The Ones that Break You
by slashbean
Summary: An altercation with another military officer brings up Lorne's painful history of coming out to his family. Sheppard tries to help, but he can barely get Lorne to speak about it. Warning: Sheppard/Lorne slash, rated NC-17. Occurs after 'Breathing Room.'
1. Chapter 1

The Ones That Break You

Evan Lorne lay on the floor of his quarters panting for breath, fanning one leg side to side. He'd never found himself upside down during sex before—at least not for more than half a minute—and his skin was still flush from his ears down.

"That was… athletic," he commented, flopping his arm toward Sheppard and ruffling his hair since it was the only part of Sheppard he could reach. The only way he'd gotten out of the headstand was by going into a handstand, which was a difficult balancing act since his body had still been connected to Sheppard's at the time. "And look," he said, pointing to the clock on the wall. "Still ten minutes before your sparring session with Teyla."

"I might have to delay that," Sheppard said, panting.

Lorne smirked proudly. It wasn't difficult to wear Sheppard out, but it _was_ difficult to get him to confess it. "Did I wear you out, baby?"

"You could say that."

Summoning his strength, Lorne rolled onto his stomach to admire Sheppard, who was sprawled on the floor like he was. The floor was easier to dry off than the bed, but mostly they wound up down here because it was so damn hard to roughhouse on those small beds. Last week's concussion had led to a stern talking to by Beckett—one of the two people on the entire base who knew about Sheppard and Lorne's relationship.

Scooting forward on his elbows, Lorne dragged his body toward Sheppard's, leaned over his face, and gave him an upside down kiss. "Haven't put your pants on yet. Is that an invitation?"

"Just tryin' to cool off," Sheppard said, closing his eyes, looking like he was trying to get to a zen state. Lorne laughed at him. Sheppard hated meditating and sitting still. Grabbing his canteen, Lorne squirted water on Sheppard's chest. Sheppard gave him a threatening look and they laughed together, but when Sheppard didn't launch an attack immediately after, Lorne became concerned. Finding his t-shirt, he mopped the water off of Sheppard's chest. They kissed, but it was the smooth, gentle kind that Sheppard used when he wanted to sleep.

"Roll over. Let me cool off the other side," Lorne said, trying to sound more playful than concerned. Sheppard complied easily, which is somewhat of a relief. If he were seriously hurt, he'd have put more energy into denying the fact.

Lorne checked Sheppard's ass, his fingers barely eliciting a flinch from his lover. Sheppard;s hole was raw, but not bleeding. Still, Lorne made a mental note to use more lube next time. He went ahead and squirted water over Sheppard's back and mopped it up with the shirt, trying to catch all the sticky parts on Sheppard's skin. It wasn't until he got bored and started rubbing Sheppard's shoulder that he caught a tiny little flinch. Lorne tried again, pressing his fingers against Sheppard's shoulder directly and Sheppard hissed.

"Okay, now you're just looking for trouble," Sheppard grumbled, rolling just enough to show he didn't want to be touched, then lying flat again. Ignoring him, Lorne probed the injury and Sheppard writhed.

"This is already swollen stiff," Lorne observed. "When did this happen?"

"Last night, on the mission," Sheppard dismissed. Lorne could tell by Sheppard's face that Sheppard was putting a lot of energy into not moving or showing signs of pain, so he carefully positioned Sheppard's arm by his side and left it alone.

"You might have told me before I put you in a double shoulder lock," Lorne carped, trying to make light of the injury.

"How was I supposed to know you'd do that?" Sheppard retorted cheekily. "We've been sparring together two years and you've never done that."

"I do it every week in training!"

"In demonstrations. Not in an actual fight."

"I've blown you from that position," Lorne pointed out. Sheppard clammed up predictably at the mention of sex. He could be shy about things like that but Lorne didn't mind. When they were actually having sex, it was damn easy to tell exactly what he did and did not like.

"Can we not talk about this?" John said, pillowing his good arm under his head so that he could hide his face.

Lorne frowned, but dropped the subject. He found his pants and a fresh shirt, and Sheppard didn't move.

"Do you need ice?" Lorne asked.

"That'd be nice."

Sighing at Sheppard's stubbornness, Lorne pulled an ice pack from his first aid kit. (He'd started keeping basic supplies in his quarters ever since sex with Sheppard became a regular occurrence.) Lorne covered Sheppard with a blanket, held the ice pack on his shoulder, and then tucked his radio behind his ear. Smiling gratefully, Sheppard called Teyla to say he couldn't make their sparring session.

#

Lorne and Sheppard were used to keeping to their own crowds in public. Lorne hung out with a lot of military personnel, and the junior officers acted weird around Sheppard since he was the commanding officer. When Sheppard wasn't with Weir and McKay, he was with Teyla and Ronan. They were a pretty tight clique. Lorne had skated the edges, but he feared if he pushed in too often, he and Sheppard would be outted. Well, Weir knew, and Sheppard said that Teyla might too. There were still too many eggshells to walk around.

It was late enough that most of the expedition was asleep. There were too many windows in the city to hide the darkness and regardless of the number of hours in the day, people's rhythms aligned to sunrise and sunset no matter what shift they were assigned to. For a little while Lorne had had his ear chatted off by Major Everett—a marine who had just arrived on the Daedalus—but her SG team was leaving in the dead of night so they'd hit their destination world at a decent time of day. Lorne didn't need coffee, but he drank it anyway.

"Mind if I join you?" Sheppard asked, a bowl of potato chips in one hand and a drink tucked into the crook of his arm.

"No, sir," Lorne said automatically. Military protocol in public was second nature to him; they'd been hiding their friendship for so long. "How's the arm?"

"If Beckett had his way, it'd be in a sling," Sheppard said, carefully maneuvering to pull out his chair and set his place with his left arm while keeping his right one braced to his chest. "I don't get to go off world this week."

"Oh, is that why my team got reassigned to McKay babysitting duty?" Lorne asked with a wry smile.

"Don't look at it like that. Look at it as an opportunity to see how impossible dreams really do come true," John said facetiously.

Lorne nearly snorted coffee through his nose. "So how come I only get McKay and not your whole team?"

"Do you really think Ronan would listen to you? He barely listens to me," Sheppard said, swirling his drink in his cup and making a face. He did that when the tea wasn't sweet enough for him. Lorne scanned the tables for sugar, but the cafeteria people had picked them up already for the nightly refilling.

"Maybe he would if you listened to yourself more often," Lorne commented, raising an eyebrow at Sheppard.

"That significant look you're giving me makes me think you're telling me off about the shoulder thing."

"I could have been more careful," Lorne said.

"I was already hurt," John snapped. Lorne gave him a pointed look and they continued to argue with their eyes. _When did we learn to talk with our eyes?_

"Are you two having some kind of lover's spat?" Ronan asked gruffly, pulling up a chair and inviting himself to join the table. Lorne sat up straighter, surprised that Sheppard had said anything to Ronan; he realized that wasn't the case when Sheppard started sputtering.

"What? No. This is not anything like that. At all," Sheppard protested adamantly. They'd promised not to deny each other if anyone asked directly, and it stung a little, but Lorne wasn't exactly eager to shout from the rooftops that he was fucking his CO.

"I was concerned about the Colonel's shoulder," Lorne said, following Sheppard's lead. He knew from experience the hell of being out. The closet was safe and Lorne's lies were practiced and smooth.

"Whatever," Ronan said, digging into the tub of ice cream he'd brought to the table. It didn't look like Ronan intended to share.

"Hey, Ronan. Since I'm kinda landlocked, why don't you go with Lorne's team this week?" Sheppard suggested, changing the subject and smiling suavely.

"Babysitting McKay? No thank you," Ronan huffed. "Besides, I gotta be here mounting the rescue when he gets captured by the Wraith."

"When?" Lorne repeated, a little offended. He went to rescue Sheppard's team twice as often as Sheppard's team came to rescue his.

Ronan gave him a hard stare that was really a challenge—either Ronan was right or they'd settle this with guns and fists. Pressing his lips together, Lorne backed down. There was a reason he didn't hang out with Sheppard's team.

"So am I supposed to pretend like I don't know about you two? Is that what people do on Earth?" Ronan asked, his attention more on the ice cream than Sheppard or Lorne.

Lorne and Sheppard exchanged an uncomfortable look, but Lorne would defer to his judgment. They didn't really know how Satidans responded to homosexuals, but Ronan seemed okay—he just wanted to know the protocol.

"What exactly do you think there is to know?" Sheppard challenged. Sheppard and Ronan had a silent stare-off and Lorne started to think that maybe Sheppard talked to everyone with his eyes… or maybe Sheppard and Ronan had a history. Finally Sheppard quirked his lips and shifted in his chair, crumbling potato chips between his fingers. "It's not a secret. But don't treat it like gossip either."

"Anyone with a nose can tell," Ronan ribbed.

"Well, I—" Sheppard reached out for Lorne, then hissed and clutched his shoulder.

"Should be wearing a sling," Lorne finished smartly.

"Hey, I get enough lip from Beckett," Sheppard groused.

"God, I hope not," Lorne teased.

Ronan chuckled at the joke and Lorne smirked again.

"Don't you start," Sheppard warned Ronan, hiding his shyness with a defensive edge.

"Oh, I'm not starting," Ronan said, holding up his hands. "I just had this bet with Teyla."

"Teyla?" Sheppard asked worriedly.

"She has a nose," Ronan pointed out.

#

There was a balcony on the East tower where Lorne liked to paint. Sometimes he'd paint the city or the worlds he visited, but most times he'd paint places he remembered from Earth. Sheppard had gotten him an art book for his birthday, and Lorne was getting better at using light and color. It wasn't a secret that he came out here, and for the most part everyone left him alone. The people on Atlantis were good at that—giving each other space.

Major Everett stalked onto the balcony, arms crossed, lips pursed. She'd seemed so cheery the other day that Lorne knew something was wrong. Maybe something had happened on her first trip off world. Or nothing had happened. A lot of marines got disappointed when their first trip was uneventful.

Trying not to be too disappointed by the interruption, he started cleaning his brushes and waited for her to speak. Everett had an Amazonian, Wonder Woman kind of vibe—tall, strong, and elite. She babbled a lot, but so did a lot of people when they first came to Atlantis. It was a pretty overwhelming experience, and it always took a week or two to find a rhythm.

"Is it true? You're homosexual?" Everett asked, her voice tinged with disappointment.

"I beg your pardon?" Lorne said, wiping the paint from his fingers, fervently ignoring her tone.

"Is it true?" she demanded, turning her accusing brown eyes on him.

Lorne smirked. His armor was thick and his lies practiced. "I don't see how it's your business one way or the other."

"You were flirting shamelessly with me the other day. If I weren't so flattered by it, I'd have filed a sexual harassment complaint," she snapped, stepping closer. She had two inches of height on him, but he'd faced the Wraith.

"I was not flirting. I was being social," he deadpanned, packing his brushes away carefully. Even if she left right now, she'd put him out of the mood for painting.

"Oh, come on. You were practically groping me," she cried.

"No, I'd remember that," Lorne said snidely. He'd give her a fight before he gave her a definitive answer.

"Was that all for show? Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? I will not be your beard!"

Lorne took a deep calming breath, wondering what had sourced these accusations. He'd come across the occasional jilted woman before, but soldiers were usually more level headed. His leadership training told him to make an 'I' statement. "I'm feeling a little attacked here."

"You're an abomination," she seethed. "You shouldn't even be on this expedition."

"Major—" he warned.

"Don't you 'Major' me. We are the same rank and I will talk to you like an equal."

"You're not really talking. You're making wild accusations," he said, planting his feet and glaring at her.

"You're a sodomite. You're as vile as the Wraith!"

The words created a crack in Lorne's thick armor. Suddenly, Lorne cocked his fist, swung hard, and connected with Everett's jaw, knocking her out cold. She fell, tipping his easel, sending his painting flying over the edge of the balcony and into the water below. He wanted to kick Everett over the edge too, but now that she couldn't talk, it was easier to contain his surging rage. He folded his easel, crushing the tripod in his fist, fighting the urge to break things—or to break down.

He paced the balcony one more time, then tapped his radio. "Colonel, there's been an incident."

#

To say Sheppard was disappointed would have been an understatement. Sheppard was livid. The incident involving Major Lorne's fist and Major Everett's face reminded him of exactly why he'd never fucked anyone under his command before. It was complicated as hell. He was so used to looking at Lorne and reading the situation off the other man's face before a word was spoken between them. Lorne had just stood there on the balcony, holding his easel and his brushes, offering the barest of explanations. Even after half an hour of berating, Sheppard was still guessing.

"She asked to be treated like an equal," Lorne shrugged. Everything he said was like that. Vague. It was pissing Sheppard off.

"And you thought knocking her out cold was a good way to settle this argument," Sheppard countered. He was only assuming there was an argument, because he knew Lorne didn't hit people just for showing up.

"She's a military officer. I thought she'd block," Lorne said wryly, bringing up his fists. Sheppard was not amused. "Hey, if she'd said to Ronan what she'd said to me, he'd have shot her dead."

"You're not Ronan," Sheppard seethed. "You're held to a higher standard. What did she say to you?"

"I'd rather not say."

"You don't have a choice, _Major_," Sheppard said, emphasizing Lorne's rank. Lorne should know better than to let a few words get to him.

There was a flicker of emotion in Lorne's eyes, but he buried it quickly. "She claimed I sexually harassed her."

"Well, the assault charge is going to look really nice next to that, don't you think?" Sheppard commented irritably.

"No, sir," Lorne answered. The emotion flickered again, and suddenly Lorne's eyes were on the floor. He still stood at attention, chin up, posture perfect, but his ears turned light pink. She'd really gotten under his skin, and it was strange that he'd try to hide it rather than defend himself.

"There's more?" Sheppard prompted.

"Sir, I respectfully decline to answer at this time," Lorne said, forcing his eyes up, but looking at nothing. His jaw set and his muscles were tense. It was like interrogating a prisoner of war. John considered playing the friend card, but it didn't seem right.

"You're confined to quarters until further notice," Sheppard said. "Dismissed."

#

Major Everett was new to Atlantis. She was the daughter of some General somewhere who had some sway with someone. She wouldn't have been Sheppard's first choice to import, but by all accounts she was an excellent warrior with a strong moral code. Within an hour of arriving, she'd informed him that she would not condone or support mistreatment of Wraith that had turned human. If Sheppard's moral code had allowed it, he'd have taken her to witness a culling and asked her to reconsider.

"Major Everett. How are you feeling?" Sheppard said evenly, waving to her as he entered the infirmary. Her injuries were minor—a blackened cheek and a concussion.

"Is that monster still on the base?" she said, her lips curling in distaste.

"Was there a monster I should know about? We get those on the base from time to time." Sheppard said sardonically, not trying to lighten her mood so much as his own. He got defensive when she called Lorne names, and as the CO, he didn't have the liberty to be defensive right now. "From what I understand, you had a disagreement with Major Lorne. Major Lorne is in his quarters."

"He should be rotting in the brig," Everett said, gingerly touching her jaw. "And everyone like him."

Sheppard didn't know what that meant. "If you have a problem with him, you bring it to me. I'm your superior officer and his."

"I can't work with him, sir. He perpetuates and uncomfortable and unsafe working environment," she said, adopting that same arrogant tone she had in their first meeting. "He started harassing me the moment I set foot on the station."

Sheppard fidgeted, resisting the urge to throttle her for lying. There had to be a reason for it. Maybe Lorne had been possessed by an alien consciousness. Stranger things had happened. All the possibilities made him more worried for Lorne than Everett. "Can you be more specific?"

"He put his hands all over me," she said, squirming like she'd just been coated in hot tar.

"I doubt that," Sheppard said.

"It would be his word against mine, and don't believe I won't take this higher up the chain of command if that's what it takes to get rid of him," she said, her jaw setting, her eyes glimmering with anger. "If I hadn't stood up to him, he would have raped me."

"Let's focus on what he did, not what he might have done," Sheppard said. He was getting farther with her than Lorne, which was good, except for the fact that even hearing the story from her side made his blood boil. She spun a yarn that Sheppard did not believe for a second, but he recorded it all because he was required to. Unfortunately, they didn't have security footage of that particular balcony. He needed to talk to Lorne.

#

If Everett had had her way, there'd be guards posted at Lorne's quarters, but Sheppard wasn't about to waste the manpower. He was still worried sick. The daughter of a general who knew somebody someplace could do a hell of a lot of damage to Lorne's career—drag his name through the mud, and tie him up for years getting scanned for alien parasites. It was probably a good idea to get Lorne scanned for general Goa'uld-iness or something. The notion scared Sheppard more than he cared to admit.

After talking to Everett, he decided he needed to take a run to cool off, and his feet ran straight to Lorne's quarters. The run forgotten, Sheppard knocked tentatively. Lorne still hadn't changed out of his painting clothes, and when Sheppard came in, Lorne stood at attention.

"At ease, Major," Sheppard said. Lorne didn't move. Frowning, Sheppard shifted gears, getting ready for an uncomfortable talk about feelings. "Evan?"

Using his name had the desired effect—it signaled the change in relationship and the reason Sheppard was here. The emotion on Lorne's face that Sheppard had only seen flickers of before rose completely to the surface, but it was not anger. It was pain and sadness. Lorne's chin quivered slightly, then he walked away, taking a seat in the room's only chair, which he'd dragged over to the window, and positioned facing out.

"Talk to me," Sheppard said, coming into the room and sitting on the bed, hoping Lorne would come to him there so they could sit together.

"Conflict of interest, sir," Lorne said, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Damn straight," Sheppard said irritably. "Look, I can pass off this case to Colonel Caldwell. I can't pass you off. Teyla doesn't get the whole Earth politics thing and Ronan… well, he's not much of a cuddler."

Lorne laughed, then covered his mouth as the release brought up a sob as well. He reined it in again quickly. The more raw Lorne's emotion became, the more it hurt Sheppard to see.

"I don't know what you did to piss her off, but she's got a powerful hatred built up and she's planning to destroy you," Sheppard said, hoping that would get him somewhere.

"If I defend myself, it might destroy me anyway," Lorne said. Even with Lorne's back turned, Sheppard could see the way he twitched and fidgeted, struggling for control.

"Tell me the real reason you hit her," Sheppard said. Direct questions often begat direct answers.

"She said I was as vile as the Wraith," Lorne answered directly. It was honest, but still vague, and more a reason for Teyla or Ronan to get pissed than Lorne.

"And what, you've never been called names before?" Sheppard asked snippily.

Lorne jumped out of his chair, face red, fists cocked. "Get out," he seethed.

Sheppard was surprised by the outburst, but glad for it. This was closer to talking than they'd been since this whole mess began. "No."

"Get out! Get out!" Lorne bellowed, charging forward, fist flying. Sheppard blocked the punch easily, but he'd forgotten his injured shoulder. Feeling the joint snap, he hollered, doubling over in pain. Lorne's tone changed, but Sheppard couldn't make sense of the words with all the black spots and spinning in the world.

#

Lorne lay on his side in the bed, his back turned to Sheppard. He knew he needed to stay near and attentive in case something bad happened, but it was hard to look at Sheppard while his mind was spinning about ways to break up with him.

_Abomination, as vile as the Wraith_…

Lorne hadn't heard words that hateful since he'd come out to his family. It was why he never came out to his friends—why he'd always looked for a fling and never a lover. There was too much to lose.

"How long have I been out?" Sheppard asked, groaning and peaking his knees on the bed. It amazed Lorne that they'd stayed together so long he could actually tell what Sheppard was doing on his side of the bed by the way the mattress moved.

"A few minutes," Lorne said, staring at the giant numbers on his clock. The tears he refused to let fall made the numbers blurry. "Sorry."

"The shoulder thing is not your fault," Sheppard said adamantly, putting a hand on Lorne's back. "I'm sure this thing with Major Everett will blow over. Based on what she said, I think she's got you confused with someone else?"

Lorne scooted back, getting a little closer to Sheppard. He wanted desperately to believe this would all get swept under the rug somehow. "I don't know, Sheppard. How many other 'vile sodomites' do you know that are disgracing Atlantis with their presence?"

Sheppard started. "Wait, what?"

"I don't know how she found out," Lorne murmured forlornly, the first tear betraying him by rolling down his cheek and splashing on the pillow.

"What!" Sheppard cried again, sitting up sharply. "Excuse her for living! I need to go blacken the rest of her face."

Lorne hooked his arm around Sheppard's waist before Sheppard could dart from the bed. "You can't. Conflict of interest."

"Damn it," John said. "She's messing with my sweet cheeks. I should tell her. I wanna see the look on her face when she realizes the shit she's in. Do you want to be there?"

"No!" Lorne cried, horrified by the notion. Sheppard fidgeted, then slumped against the headboard.

"I'm sorry. You look like you're bleeding out and it pisses me off," Sheppard snapped.

Lorne let go of him, turning his back again. It was a mistake to talk about these things now, especially with Sheppard too injured to fight back. "Then you should leave. I may look like this for awhile."

Sheppard sighed irritably, then scooted close so that his legs pressed to Lorne's back. Leaning over, putting his cheek next to Lorne's he said: "I can't kiss it better?"

"No," Lorne said tiredly, closing his eyes to keep from being swayed.

"Blow it?"

Sheppard wasn't leaving. That much Lorne could tell. Reluctantly, Lorne rolled onto his back and offered John his hand. John accepted with a grateful smile at first. He sat there, watching expectantly, waiting for Lorne to say something, but Lorne wasn't interested in speaking. Eventually, John got bored and laid down, linking his arm with Lorne's, keeping their hands entwined. After an hour, John started dozing. Lorne sighed, feeling lonely. In trying to protect his heart from Everett's words, he'd opened a Pandora's box and unleashed a litany of painful memories.

"_You're an abomination, you demon child! I never want you in my house again!"_

"_I hope you die in that war. At least then you would have done something honorable with your life."_

"_Evan, your grandmother died. Don't come home. She didn't want you at the hospital, and she doesn't want you at the funeral either."_

Lorne squeezed John's hand desperately and John stirred.

"I'm awake," John grunted, squeezing his hand back.

"My grandmother died hating me," Lorne said shakily, feeling his soul go cold at the confession. It was hard enough to say that much, so giving Sheppard any context was out of the question. Another tear rolled down Lorne's cheek, but Sheppard dutifully kept his eyes averted.

"My wife left," John said a few minutes later.

Lorne blinked in surprise. There was so much they didn't know about each other—so much they never found out because this was never meant to be serious. "You had a wife?"

"Bi. Did I not mention that?" John said tersely. Lorne shook his head. John's lips quirked and he squirmed uncomfortably. "I never told my grandma. Or any of my family."

Lorne took a deep breath wondering how his life would have been different if he'd followed a path closer to Sheppard's. "Did you tell your wife or did she catch you with someone?"

"Hey, I resent that," Sheppard said, smacking Lorne lightly on the side of the head. "I'm a faithful guy, and I never cheated on my wife."

Lorne pressed his lips together apologetically; words would have been wasted between them.

"It was the job more than anything," Sheppard said quietly, worrying Lorne's hand in his. "Well, she said it was. It didn't help, though—her knowing. I don't even know why I said anything to her. It was all just a theory until I met you."

"What was?" Lorne asked. It was rare to hear Sheppard prattle on about anything.

Sheppard became even more uncomfortable, combing his fingers between Lorne's and staring fervently at the ceiling. "Men."

Lorne's jaw dropped, but he tried not to stare at Sheppard. "Am I your first?"

"I'm sure I mentioned it," John said dismissively, looking pained by the implication.

Lorne shook his head, half-smiling. A lot of things started to make sense about Sheppard—the way he tensed all the time during sex and how it took forever to get him loose. He felt honored that Sheppard had taken so many chances with him.

"You got any aspirin in here?" John asked.

"Headache or shoulder?" Lorne asked, brushing Sheppard's cheek with the backs of his fingers, feeling special despite everything.

"Shoulder," Sheppard said.

"Come here, I can fix that," Lorne said, opening his arms. With a smile, Sheppard nestled in, tilting his injured shoulder so that Lorne could massage it. The swelling seemed to be getting worse. "Is that good?"

"Pretty good. It'd be better if you moved that massage a little further south," Sheppard said, slipping one of his legs between Lorne's thighs.

Lorne shuddered, but forced himself not to throw Sheppard off the bed. "Think of all the reasons you wouldn't dare tell your grandma about us. Then I dare you to ask me again."

It hurt to make the threat, but he knew Sheppard would understand. They settled into each other's arms and Lorne tried to convince himself that he was safe with Sheppard. But once a man is betrayed by his family, it's hard to trust anyone completely.

#

Weir wasn't used to seeing Major Lorne's name come up in incident reports unless he was reporting or resolving them. Lorne loved his worked, got along well with his colleagues, and was bound to get promoted sooner rather than later. He'd come to Atlantis by way of the SGC. Even when he'd been forced to confess his relationship with Sheppard, the only thing that had riled him was that Weir hadn't realized what he was saying. It would have helped if he hadn't had a tube down his throat at the time.

Major Everett's accusations were concerning, and Weir did not take any form of sexual harassment lightly. Some people said that women in a male-dominated workplace just had to develop a thick skin and deal with all sorts of flack, but Weir did not hold to that, nor did she tolerate such behavior. Weir knew Everett's family, and had fought to get her on the team here.

Since she wouldn't have a chance to talk to Everett until her team returned from off world, Weir decided to talk to Lorne. She was surprised when Sheppard answered the door, clothed but shoeless, looking like he'd been there for awhile. Weir knew their relationship was serious, but she still hadn't expected to see it.

Sheppard stepped aside and motioned to Lorne, who sat alone by the window. Both Sheppard and Lorne were more inclined to face the Wraith than their own emotions, and Lorne looked like he'd had a trying night.

"Colonel, will you excuse us?" Weir said.

"Sure," John said, slurring the word like a warning. Finding his boots, John sat on the bed to pull them on. He moved very slowly, favoring his injured arm. The brief conversation alerted Lorne to her presence and he stood at attention, all trace of emotion and weariness locked away.

"Good morning, ma'am," Lorne said politely. He was still in sleep clothes.

"Major," Weir greeted, accepting his words as an invitation to come closer. Because John was here too, she felt like she was invading something very private. "I heard there was an incident. I was surprised to see you were involved."

"This is a military personnel issue," Sheppard protested, the warning in his voice rising.

"I asked you to leave us alone, Colonel," Weir said sternly.

"Just on my way out," he sneered snippily. Weir had seen him get protective over Ronan and Teyla; even if Weir could force him out of the room with a pointed glare, he wouldn't go far.

"I'd like to hear your side of the story, Major," Weir said when Sheppard finally closed the door.

"Major Everett was on a hateful rant and I lost my temper," Lorne answered stiffly. According to Sheppard's report, that was as much story as Lorne was willing to tell. Everett had been significantly more verbose and damning.

"Almost a perfect dismissal, except for the assurance that it would never happen again," Weir commented, tapping her fists together, feigning a quandary. "My retort was sort of centered on that."

The only indication that Lorne had heard her was the slight tightening of his throat muscles. He remained mute.

"I see," Weir said, even more disappointed. "What was it about the content of this hateful rant that pushed you over the edge?"

Tension rippled through Lorne's body and his eyes went dark and distant, holding back a reservoir of emotion. "I've said all I would like to say."

"Major, I asked you a question, and I expect an answer," Weir said solemnly.

"There's nothing I can do, ma'am," Lorne said, his teeth chattering, he was so tense. "I'd apologize to her for losing my temper, but it wouldn't make a difference."

Remorse was a good place to start. He looked seriously shaken and maybe Everett wasn't the cause so much as the straw that broke the camel's back. Weir tried to think back to all the missions Lorne's team had been on of late, but aside from the usual things trying to kill him, nothing traumatic and new had occurred. "Major, I'd like you to make an appointment with Dr. Heightmeyer."

Lorne's eyes went wide with panic which quickly mixed with some other internal conflict. "Why?"

"You struck a fellow officer in a fit of rage. That's not like you, Major."

Some of the panic subsided, and Lorne nodded obediently. Then he collapsed in his chair and buried his face in his hands, breaking the aura of unaffectedness he'd been trying to put forth. Weir was so concerned that she nearly called Dr. Heightmeyer herself. Deciding that she'd wait and let the man have a little dignity, she headed out and left Lorne in peace. When she got outside, John was leaning against the opposite wall, bracing his injured, right arm against his chest and trying to make it look like a casual pose.

"He seems a bit sensitive," Weir said, not sure if she was speaking to her chief military officer or Lorne's friend.

"Don't say stuff like that. It's emasculating," Sheppard criticized, pushing off the wall and heading back in. He hadn't even tied his shoes.

"I want this resolved, Colonel. I don't like having my two best men off duty," Weir said firmly.

"If I talk to Everett, I might wind up punching her too," Sheppard said evenly. Something in his tone made Weir think he knew more about the situation than had been in his report last night.

"Stay here with him. See if he'll talk to you."

"If the last twelve hours are any indication, it'll be a whole lot of silence."

Weir pursed her lips, frustrated by the situation. Based on the report, Everett should have been the one brooding in her quarters, not Lorne. "Try."

#

Kate Heightmeyer had pie on the brain. She felt bad thinking about pie when she was in sessions, but she couldn't help her expedition unless she first helped herself… to large quantities of pie. Working around the schedules of the different teams could be difficult, and the number of regulars was becoming large enough that she'd put in a request to have more counselors brought in on the next trip from Earth.

"Dr. Weir asked me to make an appointment with you," Major Lorne was saying. He'd called by radio, politely making sure he wasn't interrupting anything before putting in his request. The phrasing was a dead giveaway that he thought this session was unnecessary. She could count the number of appointments she'd had with Lorne on one finger—he'd been ordered once before after a near-death experience.

"When would you like to talk?" Kate asked. The order must have been recent because usually Kate got a heads up from Weir before hearing from military officers. That may bode well for this session.

"The sooner the better."

"How about tonight?"

"Fine."

Terse. Vague. Her inner therapist was already analyzing the information. He probably needed clearance to go on some mission or other. His type honestly worked out more issues by going on deadly missions than by being kept from them and sent to therapy.

"Major, am I correct in assuming you intend to sit in my office for an entire hour and say nothing."

"Talking won't change what I am."

_What I am?_ That was a loaded statement that Kate needed to get to the bottom of, and he was making it perfectly clear that it wouldn't happen in her office.

"Okay, how about we stipulate that the hour of silence occurred, hang the appointment, and get some pie from the cafeteria," she suggested. "The Daedalus brought fresh apple pie and I've missed it the last two times because it ran out so quickly."

She heard Lorne chuckle softly over the radio and she took that as a yes.

"I'm getting in line in about twenty minutes. Meet me there?"

#

By the time Kate made it to the pie line, it was already out the door and into the hall. Everyone was being given tickets as they arrived in line so that no one could line crash. Kate had to sacrifice five spaces in line to stand next to Major Lorne, but it seemed silly to drag him out this way and not stand next to him. He was being polite, yet reserved, choosing his words carefully. Kate wished she had taken the time to talk to Dr. Weir about why she'd ordered Lorne to come to her.

They were just starting to cut the last slices of pie when she and Lorne got their pieces. The smell of cinnamon, cloves, and baked apple filled the cafeteria.

"Dr. Weir is going to ask about our session," Kate said, after they'd gotten their food and broken far enough from the line that their conversation was relatively private. Lorne frowned, looking betrayed. She supposed it was a little devious, bringing him down here for pie and then talking shop. "I'd like to tell her you're fit for duty, but I need a reference point. I don't even know what this is about."

Lorne didn't answer. It was probably a mark of respect that he conceded to continue sharing a table with her. Dropping the subject, Kate offered him a bright smile and motioned toward the pie. She groaned happily as she tasted it.

"The rumors did not do this pie justice."

"It was definitely worth twenty minutes in line," Lorne agreed, eating his pie carefully almost daintily, making her feel like a pig for the way she shoveled it hungrily into her mouth. It was interesting to watch his approach to the food—like he was afraid to love it as much as he did.

"My grandmother used to make the best apple pie," Kate said, closing her eyes with the next bite, thinking about home.

"Mine too," Lorne said quietly.

"I tried her recipe once and set my oven on fire," Kate said, laughing. She looked across the table to share the laugh with Lorne, but he was sitting frozen, fork half way to his mouth. "Are you all right?"

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"From the pie?" she asked, disheartened. She glanced sadly at her own half-eaten piece and his. "Do I have time to wrap these up?"

"I can get to the infirmary on my own," Lorne said, shoving his plate toward her, his face going pale as he stood. "Thanks for inviting me."

#

Sheppard had run out of excuses for his shoulder. Beckett was finally getting his way, but he wasn't just putting the arm in a sling, he was splinting the damn thing to Sheppard's chest. Sheppard was going to have to come here every time he wanted to take his shirt off, but Beckett assured that this was the fastest way to heal the swollen rotator cuff. Three days. Four tops.

Forty-five minutes later, Sheppard had been scanned, poked, and probed a frustrating large amount considering he hadn't been off world in three days. When he saw Lorne running into the infirmary, he decided he'd switch to good patient mode so he could hang out and check in on his friend.

Lorne staggered in about two steps, found the nearest biohazard waste bin, and puked his guts out. One of the nurses came to check on him, but when Lorne noticed Sheppard, he got tunnel vision and shrugged the nurse off.

"Now what did you do?" Lorne teased, smiling like his old self.

"It's just a precaution. A warning to certain guys not to hit me," Sheppard said.

Lorne's lips parted, catching an insult where Sheppard had intended a joke, but he swallowed any apology. Sheppard tipped his chin toward the bed, and Lorne sat beside him.

"Hello, Major. How long has your stomach been bothering you?" Beckett asked, switching easily to Lorne once he'd finished with Sheppard, shining his pen light in Lorne's eyes.

"A few minutes ago. The apple pie reminded me of my grandmother," Lorne answered.

"The one that died last year?" Beckett asked.

Lorne nodded.

"I can't really treat heartsick. Are you still queasy?" Beckett asked.

Lorne shrugged and Beckett tipped his head sympathetically, leaving Lorne to talk to Sheppard.

"Your grandma died a year ago?" Sheppard asked, finally understanding why the pain was so fresh. "I thought you came out to your family when you were a kid."

"She hated me for a long time," Lorne said, his voice cool and distant.

"What did Dr. Heightmeyer say?"

Lorne shrugged again. "There's no point in talking to her about it."

"Sometimes there is." Sheppard was used to seeing Lorne this way—easygoing and unburdened. He knew they were both broken inside. Neither of them wanted to hash out the details of pasts so messed up that they needed the Stargate to get them away from. But it bothered Sheppard that Lorne had been heartsick and alone.

"What's she going to do?" Lorne asked sharply, his defenses rising. "Cure me by hypnosis? You think my parents didn't try that already? You think they didn't try everything?" His voice crescendoed, then he went suddenly quiet. "Everything. They were going to try an exorcist next. Had one lined up, but I joined the Air Force and shipped out before… Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I stayed—if my grandmother would have ever accepted me again."

There was nothing in that statement that didn't horrify Sheppard. The bits and pieces that had slipped out over the past few days, the bleeding pain, the incident with Everett. Your family's not supposed to be the one that breaks you.

Sheppard wanted to take Lorne's hand, but Dr. Heightmeyer showed up. Sheppard waved her away, but Lorne summoned her back smiling socially, his emotions locked away again.

"John, you need to taste this pie," Lorne said, smiling like he wasn't hurt at all.

#

Ronan pretended not to understand all the Earth political bullshit, but he knew his own people had been short-sighted once. If all humans spent even an hour being a runner, they'd understand just how shitty the bullshit was. As a runner, he'd learned that he could bring the Wraith on anyone that offered him help. He made sure people understood the cost of charity, and he made sure to protect and honor those who helped him. Ronan didn't like people messing with his friends.

As women on the base went, Everett stood a head taller than the rest. She had blown off his group training sessions twice already, but he'd watched her spar with people from Earth on occasion. She was as arrogant as McKay, which might have been an okay trait for a computer wiz, but was reckless in a warrior. Ronan gave her three missions before she received a fatal injury. His predictions weren't often wrong.

"Hello," she greeted when he came into the gym and got in her face. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a messy braid and she tucked a few loose strands behind her ear, batting her eyelashes at him. "You're that Satidan man aren't you? Ronan? You're more handsome up close."

"Are you kidding me?" Ronan growled, bored by her advances.

"Absolutely not," she crooned, touching his arm. Ronan snapped, grabbing her wrist, ready to break it in half. She defended herself well, twisting out of the hold, then smiling coyly at him. "Sorry. Is that too forward?"

"Are you going to set me up too? Like you set up Lorne?" Ronan accused, cocking his fists, letting her know the fight wasn't over.

She dropped her hands by her side and smiled disarmingly. "I didn't set him up."

"He never touched you and you know it," Ronan seethed.

Everett crossed her arms. "He's a brutish, perverted sodomite and he shouldn't be allowed here."

Ronan huffed incredulously. "You think Sheppard's just gonna send him packing? Who do you think Lorne has been sodomizing?"

Everett stuttered. Ronan raised his brow, glad he'd gotten a rise out of her. A part of him worried he'd just betrayed Sheppard and Lorne's trust.

"I don't know what your problem is with them, but if you keep coming after my friends, I'll slit your throat," Ronan threatened.

"I could have you arrested for talk like that," Everett said, her self-assurance returning.

Ronan circled her dangerously, closing his hand over her throat. "Earth has no jurisdiction over me. Now you take back all those lies you've been spreading and you keep away from my friends. Understand?"

He pulled on her neck. It would be so easy to snap it right now and end this, but then he'd probably have to leave Atlantis. He backed out of the room, arms open, inviting her to come after him so he'd have an excuse to hurt her.

"This is not over!" Everett seethed, glowering at him.

In an instant, Ronan had her pressed against the wall, his knife to her throat. "It can be. Right now if you want."

Everett seethed a moment longer, then pouted, looking like a chastised child. Rolling his eyes, Ronan let her go, not afraid to turn his back this time. The pathetic bitch stamped past him out of the room.

#

Lorne was emotionally exhausted, but slowly on the way to shelving the pain of old family issues. These things never resolved so much as they disappeared into the background. Like any battle scar from any other war, he could choose to wallow in the pain or move on. It had been awhile since the wounds felt so fresh. The conversation he'd had with Weir that morning consisted mostly of her profuse apologies and stern admonishments, telling him not to put up with shit like that ever again. It was supposed to be a win for him, but it felt more like an ass-rape. She told him to take the rest of the day off and be ready to hit the ground running tomorrow.

The cafeteria was buzzing with the in-fluxing lunch crowd. Lorne didn't want to be alone, but he wasn't sure how to be social, so he kept his head down on the table and his face buried in his hands. Everett had given him a new thing to torture himself over—the way he interacted with the new female officers. Maybe he'd flirted a little; maybe he'd been too lax about physical contact. He'd dragged enough wounded soldiers back from combat zones, and it was difficult to remember where the boundaries were.

Hearing Sheppard talking to Ronan and Teyla, Lorne considered sitting up so Sheppard wouldn't feel obligated to leave his friends and come over. Suddenly their voices surrounded him and the table shifted as trays clattered into place. Sheppard squeezed his shoulder by way of greeting, but continued his story to Teyla and Ronan about the AFL playoffs. Chuckling to himself, Lorne kept his head buried in his arms.

"Major Lorne, we thought you would like to know that Major Everett is heading back to Earth on the Daedalus today," Teyla said, sounding grateful for the excuse to interrupt Sheppard's tale.

"He knows. He's just being semi-anti-social," Sheppard said, letting his hand slide from Lorne's shoulder to his waist. Lorne shifted just enough to nudge Sheppard off—which earned him a pat on the ass instead. "Come on, sweet cheeks. Head up."

Lorne's ears turned bright red at the endearment, his humiliation growing as Ronan started snickering.

"I told you!" Ronan guffawed.

"I see and yet I still do not believe it," Teyla replied. The implied gossip made Lorne's ears burn hotter.

"A bet's a bet. That Athosian sweetbread you've been hoarding is mine," Ronan ribbed.

Lifting his head, Lorne peeked at the two, hoping they were too engrossed in their ribbing to notice his flushed cheeks. "If I'm responsible for someone winning sweetbread, I should get a slice."

"What bet?" Sheppard demanded.

"We had a wager as to whether you two were secretly cute," Teyla replied, laughing and looking a little embarrassed.

"It's not really secret if we're doing stuff right in front of you," Sheppard pointed out.

"Hey, don't mess up my chances of getting sweetbread," Lorne protested, giving Sheppard a light shove. Sheppard's whole right arm was still in that immobilizing brace, and Lorne didn't want to slow his recovery by being too rough.

"I'll get you your damn sweetbread," Sheppard whined, giving Lorne's arm a pinch.

"When I go to the mainland, I will bring back some to share if I can," Teyla assured, holding her hands up like she was brokering a peace between Sheppard and Lorne.

Biting his lip, Lorne folded his arms and rested his head on the table again, this time looking sideways at Sheppard. It was difficult to look at Ronan and Teyla—impossible to believe they'd had a wager about him and Sheppard being cute… with no mention of unnatural behavior or eternal damnation. Sheppard noticed Lorne staring and leaned sideways, putting his arm around Lorne's shoulder.

"If I had two good arms, I'd hold your hand while I ate, but I only got the one good arm, so I'm just gonna hold you," he whispered, like he was explaining a battle tactic. Boldly, Sheppard leaned in and kissed the corner of Lorne's mouth. Surprised, but touched, Lorne tilted his face toward Sheppard, completing the kiss, eyes closed. For a moment, the world melted away and no one else was there but him and Sheppard. Then the panic set in.

Pulling back, Lorne sat up and wiped his mouth self-consciously, shooting warning glares around the room to anyone who had dared see and judge. His eyes landed on McKay who had pulled a chair to the head of the table and was staring, dumbstruck.

"I seem to have missed something important," McKay remarked, his head cocked to one side, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

"I'd catch you up, but I think I've embarrassed Evan enough for one meal," Sheppard said, giving Lorne a friendly pat on the back, then picking up his fork to eat.

"Hmm," McKay said, slinking into his chair and munching on his sandwich. _McKay is okay with this too?_ Nervous, but emboldened, Lorne slipped his hand under the table, resting it on Sheppard's thigh. He needed the reassurance, but he was still afraid to take it in public.

"'Hmm.' That's it?" Lorne asked anxiously.

"Hmm?" McKay said again, looking up in surprise, as though his thought train had already gone a million miles from the conversation. "Oh, am I supposed to give you the third degree? Okay, um. On a scale of one to ten in which I am a thousand, how smart would you say you are?"

"Excuse me?" Lorne choked, his hand tensing on Sheppard's leg.

"Well if you can't understand a simple question, I say we're off to a bad start," McKay whined, rolling his eyes.

"McKay, don't be a jackass," Sheppard warned through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Hear me out," McKay said, lifting a protesting finger to Sheppard, then turning to Lorne. "You see, Sheppard is quite smart—he could have been mensa—and I don't think he's living up to his full potential. I'm trying to evaluate whether you would bring him up or drag him down."

Lorne had heard about this 'third degree' thing. When he'd gotten through his teens without experiencing it, he'd figured he was scott free. Swallowing hard, he glanced at Sheppard for guidance, and Sheppard just gave him that knowing grin that made Lorne forget there was anyone watching. "Oh, I bring him up," Lorne assured, smiling now that he'd clued into the prank.

Ronan snickered and Teyla smacked his arm. McKay looked clueless for a moment, then groaned.

"As touched as I am by your concern, Rodney," Sheppard began, snaking his arm around Lorne's chest. Then he paused and stared at Lorne. "I can't remember where I was going with this sentence."

"Sorry if I think you're capable of doing more than flying puddle jumpers and blowing things up," McKay said irritably.

"I do a lot more," Sheppard growled hotly in Lorne's ear. Lorne shuddered nervously at the public attention.

"Wait, you're not joking?" Lorne asked, staring openly at McKay. Suddenly he wished he'd just picked a number.

McKay frowned. The pain that Lorne had been working hard to bury resurfaced, along with the wish that his family had been half as accepting of him as the four people at the table with him right now. Now that he knew it was possible and what it felt like, he wanted it. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back to the table and fought to keep his emotions in check. Sheppard kissed the back of his neck, then rested his chin on Lorne's shoulder, giving Lorne a hug with his one good arm. The flood of relief nearly undid him, but he swallowed hard and focused on breathing in and out.

"Just out of curiosity," McKay said, dropping his voice and leaning toward Teyla, "How long have I been missing this?"

#


	2. Chapter 2

The Ones That Break You (Part II)

_(Warning: Rated NC-17 for sexual content and mentions of past rape)_

A storm may have passed, but the nightmare was far from over. There would always be Everetts in the world and no amount of censuring would convince them that their hatred was misplaced. What frustrated Lorne was the realization that he'd never truly accepted himself. A part of him still believed what his parents had told him since he was a boy—that this was a disease to be cured. That belief was starting to crumble now that he'd experienced true acceptance, but the idea was as new and startling as learning that the galaxies were filled with life-sucking aliens.

"You gonna stand there all night?" Sheppard remarked, grabbing his football from the shelf and tossing it to Lorne.

The left-handed toss went wide, but Lorne caught it easily, still brooding. Absently, he tossed the ball back to Sheppard, but with one arm in a splint, Sheppard fumbled and dropped it.

"There was an awful lot of public display that happened tonight," Lorne said. Coming out to McKay, Teyla, and Ronan had been relatively painless, but they weren't the only ones in the cafeteria witnessing that brief kiss.

"Well, you've been all broody lately and I don't exactly have other ways to work off all my excess energy," Sheppard said, punting the ball in little circles around himself, then losing it under the bed.

"Aren't you worried?"

"Nah," Sheppard grinned, waving his hand. "A little popcorn, a little football, and you realize the world has bigger problems than some guy on guy PDA. Wanna watch the AFC playoff game? I've seen it twice already and it's amazing."

"If you want," Lorne shrugged. He wanted to see it, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Wanna make out?" Sheppard asked, sauntering closer, trying to play cool, but looking sexy as hell doing it.

"Maybe."

"Wanna fuck?"

Lorne took a deep breath, smiling at Sheppard's inadvertent coyness. "Yeah."

Sheppard snaked his arm around Lorne's neck, leaning in until their foreheads touched. "Good. Cause it's damn near impossible to strip myself with only the one good arm."

Flicking his tongue playfully against Sheppard's lips, Lorne teased around a kiss until Sheppard growled in irritation and shoved his tongue in Lorne's mouth. Everything tasted different now—sweeter because there wasn't the nagging fear in the back of Lorne's mind that he was doing something unforgivable.

"We're not secretly cute, are we?" Sheppard asked between kisses.

Lorne laughed against Sheppard's lips. "Yeah, baby, I think we are."

"Baby," Sheppard muttered, huffing to himself as he tugged Lorne's shirt free. "By the way, thanks for not calling me that in front of everyone."

Sheppard's attempt at stripping Lorne one-handed was failing miserably, so Lorne pulled off his own shirt.

"I didn't mean to say…the sweet cheeks thing—it just kinda came out," Sheppard babbled, flopping on the bed and holding out his foot so Lorne could remove his boots. "You've had it a lot harder than me—what your family did to you. I'm actually surprised we've found so much support here."

The ramble was turning Lorne off, and he tried to ignore it. Not saying anything, he stripped Sheppard's pants and then his own, like he was helping an infirmed friend rather than a lover.

"I really don't want to be one of those couples that makes people roll their eyes and say 'get a room.' I'm just really horny today," Sheppard prattled. He was already half-hard by the time Lorne stripped him, and he ducked his head bashfully. "See what I mean?"

"How long were you planning to keep talking?" Lorne asked, straddling Sheppard's lap, dragging his hands over Sheppard's thighs. He figured he wasn't supposed to remove the arm brace but found Sheppard's shirt a frustrating block.

"It's not really a plan. I'm sure there's something you can stuff in there to make me stop," Sheppard said cheekily. Laughing Lorne kissed Sheppard hard, shoving his tongue as deep into Sheppard's mouth as he could reach.

"Not what I had in mind," Sheppard said, smacking Lorne's bare ass. Sheppard was good with his hands, knowing when to slap and when to tease. He was observant too, catching onto things by watching… it was probably that same skill that allowed them to talk with their eyes.

Sheppard hooked his arm around Lorne's butt, sliding Lorne across his lap so that their bodies touched. Lorne rolled his hips, letting his balls slide against Sheppard's hardening cock. Sheppard kept leaning back, trying to get enough space between their bodies to get his hand between, but Lorne kept pressing closer, following him down to the mattress, and then attacking him with a deep, penetrating kiss.

"Damn it!" Sheppard shouted, smacking the mattress, his voice muffled by the fact that Lorne's tongue was still in his mouth. "It's hard enough when I only have two hands, and now I'm down to one!"

Wrapping a leg around Lorne's hips, Sheppard ground their groins together and brushed his hand through Lorne's hair, giving the roots a light, frustrated tug.

"You're still talking and you're not saying much," Lorne said, swaying his hips side to side, rubbing mercilessly against Sheppard's cock. Sheppard's eyes rolled back and his hips arched up, but the groan that came out of him held more frustration than pleasure.

"I'm saying I… damn it! You're going to fuck me right?"

"Mmmhmm," Lorne moaned lustily, nibbling Sheppard's ear.

"Can you do it gently?" Sheppard asked matter-of-factly. He was sacrificing some pride by speaking the request aloud, but Lorne wasn't going to make him feel ashamed for it.

"Mmmhmm," Lorne said, kissing softly down the side of Sheppard's neck.

"And make it fun."

"I'm always fun," Lorne whispered hotly against Sheppard's skin. Sheppard's head dropped to the pillow and his eyes closed. He looped his legs around Lorne's hips, masterfully directing their rhythm simply by the flexing of his thigh muscles. It was strange seeing him so still. His shoulder shouldn't have been hurting him, but maybe being in the brace frustrated him too much.

"You'll stay here tonight?" Sheppard asked, his strained voice barely above a whisper.

"If you want."

"I want," Sheppard said, his eyes darting around the room. "I mean, I'm saying—I kinda—" Sheppard heaved a frustrated sigh. "Can we stop talking and fuck now?"

"You're the one who keeps talking," Lorne pointed out, settling their bodies so that their legs were intertwined and their hips locked. He snaked a hand under Sheppard's shirt, going as far as he could before the brace stopped him.

"That's because I have something important to say, and I can't seem to get it out," Sheppard complained.

Lorne quirked his lips playfully, and screwed his face like he was trying to guess. "You're afraid the Steelers have blown their chance at the Superbowl?"

"No," Sheppard said. "Well, yeah, but they could still be a wildcard team."

"Your shoulder hurts and you're not sure you can get it up?" Lorne tried.

"No!" Sheppard said, biting his lip. "You think I wouldn't tell you that? Okay, you're probably right, but this time… I'm just trying to say that I care about you!"

Lorne's eyes widened. The thing he knew from Sheppard's actions and had never let his heart believe had finally been spoken out loud. Sheppard cared. Lorne felt like his chest was filling with ice. His heart rate shot up and panic took hold. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the fear that Sheppard would take those words back

"Lorne? Evan?" Sheppard said plaintively, his face falling. "Shit. Lorne!"

"I'm okay," Lorne murmured, shaking off the stunned look. "I wasn't fishing for a compliment. You didn't have to say that."

"I think I did. But if it helps, we just pretend I didn't and get on with the fucking," Sheppard said.

Lorne kissed Sheppard, but winced at the contact. His skin was turning to ice. "Yeah."

"Or I could keep telling you until you believe me," Sheppard offered. "I… I… Okay, it's hard to say when you're just staring at me."

Lorne dropped his eyes, laying his head on Sheppard's chest, feeling his ears go red. If Sheppard couldn't repeat it, maybe he'd just dreamed he'd heard it.

"This is that heartsick thing isn't it?" Sheppard said, running his fingers through Lorne's hair. "I'm not enough. You want all the rest of your family—"

"Shut up, Sheppard, you're not a shrink," Lorne said, his voice thick with emotion.

"You can kiss my ass!" Sheppard retorted irately. The silence fell between them and Lorne waited fearfully for Sheppard to lobby another insult and take away his previous sentiment. Sheppard just pinched him. "No seriously, if you kiss my ass right now, I'll drop this whole topic."

Wincing, Lorne found Sheppard's hand and held on. He wished Sheppard had the courage to keep saying those words over and over. Lorne certainly wouldn't say them back. Not yet.

"I want you just the way you are," Sheppard said seriously, shimmying down so he could kiss Lorne's face. "You're mine, sweet cheeks. Now get your dick hard so I can sit on it."

#

Sheppard had been waking up every twenty minutes for the last hour. At first, he thought it was just the weirdness of sharing his bed. He and Lorne had grabbed the occasional nap after sex, but sleeping in the same room was still foreign. He'd fallen asleep in Lorne's room the other day when the whole Everett fiasco was in its full blown shithood, but Lorne had spent most of the night brooding. There was some minor comforting that occurred. This was different. This was just sleeping. Sex, clean-up, sleep. Like a normal day, but as a couple.

It was the most boring sex Sheppard had ever had, though through no fault of Lorne's. Being one arm short really messed Sheppard up. In a battle situation, he'd have powered through it and defended himself, but sex was not a fight. (Actually, it often was with him and Lorne, and Sheppard liked it because it was the only fight he could always win.) They'd gone through any position that didn't tax his shoulder and in the end, he'd just stood there, pressed against the wall, riding Lorne's cock, offering no resistance. It made going to sleep after all the more weird, because he wasn't exactly worn out.

Lorne kicked his leg and Sheppard kicked back. The twisting motion traveled up his spine, shooting pain through his cramped muscles. The fingers of his splinted arm had fallen asleep. Rolling onto his side, Sheppard tried to wriggle some blood back into his fingers, but he didn't want to sleep on his side because his only good arm was pinned. The pillow fell too flat to support his head and his cramped neck muscles screamed.

Lorne kicked and twitched again, every slight motion he made sending vibrations through the mattress and agitating Sheppard's shoulder. Sheppard wondered if the kicking was something he'd have to get used to from Lorne. He knew Lorne used to sleepwalk as a child.

"Psst. Evan," Sheppard hissed, nudging Lorne with his knee. Lorne's whole body strained, sweat beading on his face. "Evan."

Lorne woke up, rubbing the sweat from his eyes, looking sick.

"You're all fidgety," Sheppard said, flicking Lorne's shoulder. The flick made Lorne heave. Rolling quickly out of bed, Lorne grabbed the trashcan and hurled.

"Shit. Shit!" Lorne rasped, hacking and spitting into the bin, wiping his mouth. It looked like more than just his dinner had come up.

"Bad pie?"

"Bad dream," Lorne answered. Sheppard was surprised by the confession.

"Does that happen a lot or is it… recent events?" Sheppard probed, feeling uncomfortable. He didn't want Lorne to think that the wrong answer would get him kicked out of bed.

"Recent. Mostly," Lorne said, leaning against the side of the bed and wrapping his arms around his chest. "Do me a favor Sheppard. Don't look at me like that; don't pity me."

Sheppard pressed his lips together and averted his eyes. He hadn't meant to look at Lorne like that, but when things came to the surface, it was in his nature to figure out what was going on. Still, he didn't want to get into the habit of sharing all his past woes with Lorne. Then they'd both wind up pitying each other. "Deal."

"Whoever thought that shock therapy was a good idea should be thrown into a pit of starving Wraith," Lorne said, shivering and wiping his face with the heel of his hand. His body twitched again, like he was experiencing the shocks right now.

"You don't have to talk about it," Sheppard said, finding the canteen he kept by the bed and offering it to Lorne.

"If it's keeping you up…"

"My shoulder is keeping me up. I was thinking of hurling myself," Sheppard said dismissively.

"There's still space in the bucket," Lorne joked, lifting the bin for Sheppard to use. The smell alone made Sheppard want to puke. "Go ahead. Then I won't have to clean it twice."

Fighting back nausea, Sheppard punched Lorne in the arm. Even that sent ripples of pain through his neck and shoulder. Finding a shirt and shorts, Lorne left to clean the puke from the trashcan. He returned a few minutes later, set the bin on Sheppard's side of the bed, and then crawled under the covers, wrapping his arms protectively around his chest. The body language clearly said he wasn't open for touching, and that irked Sheppard. Flopping on his back, Sheppard tried to massage his shoulder through the brace, and hissed sharply.

"Was I not gentle enough?" Lorne asked quietly. Lorne put forth a confident air during sex, but after, he was surprisingly insecure.

"No. I mean yes," Sheppard said.

"Not fun?"

"It's just sore. Okay," Sheppard snapped. He looked at Lorne, lying there tired and sick. It wasn't pity that made him want to reach out, just friendly concern. "Switch sides with me."

"What?"

"Sides of the bed. Get on the other side," Sheppard said. Moving gingerly, he slid over to the warm spot Lorne had left and opened his arm, beckoning him close. Hooking his arm around Lorne's neck, he brought Lorne's face to rest on his shoulder. "There. Now try sleeping."

Lorne made a face and started shifting again, wriggling until his body was half-sprawled atop Sheppard's and his leg hooked over Sheppard's hips. It took a few tries to get his arm lying across Sheppard's chest in a way that didn't agitate the brace, but Lorne finally found a way to do it so that his fingers were laced under Sheppard's, giving Sheppard something to hold onto.

"Still comfortable?" Lorne checked.

"Yeah," Sheppard said, then closed his eyes trying to make it true. Lorne had broad shoulders and well-defined muscles. There was a long scar down the side of his arm, and the story he'd told about how he got it hiking with his siblings just did not match up to the length and shape, but Sheppard would never call him on it. Lorne's hands were rough and calloused, but his face was always smoothly shaved and clean. Sheppard wondered if Lorne liked to start his day with push-ups, sit-ups, or a run like he did. He wondered if Lorne was just naturally agile or if he'd trained in gymnastics and that's why he could walk on his hands. Squirming, Sheppard freed his hand enough to slip it under Lorne's shirt and stroke the soft, hairless skin beneath. It was strange how soothing the quietness felt.

"This is weird," Sheppard commented after a few minutes of silence.

Lorne didn't answer; he was fast asleep. Resting his cheek atop Lorne's head, Sheppard tried to sleep too. He wanted an aspirin, but he didn't want to wake Lorne.

#

Lorne woke up slowly, warm and rested, like Saturday morning. Humming happily, he stretched his body against Sheppard's, loving the fact that Sheppard was still naked from the waist down. Sleeping in Sheppard's arms was the best sleep he'd gotten in months. As soon as he started moving, he felt Sheppard move too, stroking his fingers up and down Lorne's spine. His hand was under Lorne's shirt, teasing the skin.

"I could sleep all day," Lorne sighed, snuggling close to Sheppard, hoping the impromptu back scratch would keep going awhile.

"Someone might report that to your CO. You could get in big trouble," Sheppard said lazily, his hand still moving with hypnotic rhythm. Sighing pleasantly, Lorne turned his head just far enough to plant his lips on Sheppard's chest. Rather than a pleasured sigh, he felt a flinch. The Saturday morning aura was broken.

Propping himself on one elbow, Lorne checked Sheppard for injury automatically. Sheppard's face was slightly flush and his lips dry. His gimped arm looked frighteningly pale and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Did you sleep?" Lorne asked.

"I slept plenty for all the not-working I'll be doing today," Sheppard said bitterly, glaring out the window.

Rolling out of bed, Lorne started pulling on his pants. His first solution was to call Beckett, but he figured he had a better chance of getting Sheppard to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and then detouring by the infirmary. He wasn't surprised when Sheppard hopped out of bed too and began the awkward process of dressing himself one-handed. Lorne knew better than to offer assistance.

"Getting dressed for all that not-working?" Lorne teased. Watching him do his socks was usually pretty amusing—for Lorne at least.

"Yeah," Sheppard murmured distractedly. _Too tired for a comeback_? Lorne was more irked than concerned.

Sheppard skipped the skivvies, going straight for his pants, hopping on one leg, then the other, tipping onto the bed when he got them to thigh level. Sheppard groaned wearily, already sweating from his stubborn mission of self-sufficiency. Deciding his lover needed a little pick-me-up, Lorne straddled Sheppard's lap.

"You better be careful. Some men might take this as an invitation," Lorne teased, cupping his crotch and eyeing him seductively.

Sheppard nodded and squirmed. His stomach contracted like he was about to heave, but he swallowed whatever came up. "Can you get me to the infirmary first?"

"Okay. But I'm not going to forget this," Lorne said, winking and giving Sheppard's dick another tug before helping him dress. Sheppard was embarrassed to need help, but covered it by giving as many orders as possible. They weren't the fun kind of orders though (like kiss me or get your dick hard). When they walked to the infirmary, Sheppard put his arm over Lorne's shoulder, limping like he'd been injured in battle.

When Beckett saw them enter, he sighed.

"What did you two do now?" Beckett complained, a lecture already at the tip of his tongue.

Lorne fought back a laugh. He hauled his men in here a lot, but when he dragged Sheppard in, it was most often for sex-related injuries. "This is not my fault."

"I slept on my back like you told me," Sheppard said, wheezing lightly. "Now everything from my neck to my elbow is cramping up and I can't feel my fingers."

He must have been pretty bad off to give so straight an answer. Setting Sheppard on the nearest bed, Lorne backed away and let Beckett work. He thought vaguely of his schedule for today, trying to decide if he had time for a shower now or if he'd have to squeeze one in after his workout. He had a briefing at ten for a mission tomorrow and he couldn't miss that.

Sheppard screamed in pain, and then tried to cover it with an irritated whine. Beckett had gotten the splint off and was trying to remove Sheppard's shirt.

"I'll get the scissors. Sit tight," Beckett said.

Sheppard clutched his right arm with his left, keeping everything above the elbow braced to his side. His whole body was stiff, and he peeked abashedly at Lorne, reaching out his good hand. Lorne took it and Sheppard tugged him close, pitching forward and leaning his face against Lorne's chest, carefully limiting movement of his neck and shoulders.

"I don't want to be cut out of another shirt," Sheppard moaned angrily, squeezing Lorne's hand.

"The muscles are cramped?" Lorne asked, scooting closer and bringing both his hands to Sheppard's neck, massaging gently. Sheppard whimpered at first, but then pressed into Lorne's fingers. Sheppard's quiet gasps and subtle sighs were sufficient to guide Lorne to the right spots. He knew he'd made progress when Sheppard turned his head stiffly, resting his ear on Lorne's heart. Maneuvering carefully, Lorne skimmed Sheppard's shirt up to his armpits, extracting Sheppard's good arm. He felt Sheppard's cheek rubbing against his shoulder, the intimate way he used to do before they started kissing. Using his chin, Lorne nudged back, checking to make sure Sheppard could move his neck properly before yanking the t-shirt over his head. It took some twisting and left Sheppard's hair askew, but once that was done, it became easy to skim the shirt off the gimped arm.

"That wasn't so hard," Lorne said, folding the shirt and setting it on the bed next to Sheppard. Sheppard nodded and kept his cheek pressed to Lorne's chest, so Lorne kept massaging, trying to warm Sheppard's arm without moving the shoulder. He felt Sheppard molding to him, his body wilting. Then his breathing evened out and he fell fast asleep.

"That's very impressive, Major. Can I send a few more patients your way?" Beckett jived, returning with a pair of scissors and a giant needle that was presumably going to be poked into Sheppard's shoulder.

Chuckling, Lorne laid Sheppard back on the bed, being careful not to wake him. "Absolutely not."

#

True to his word, Lorne did not forget about Sheppard going commando. If it weren't so damn hard to dress with one hand, Sheppard wouldn't have done it. It would have been easier if it hadn't been his right shoulder that had been hurt. Beckett had poked his shoulder with a giant needle, forced him through some tedious physical therapy to work his joints, and let him take a shower before getting splinted up again. This time, Sheppard forewent the shirt. It was too much of a hassle, and he could drape a flak jacket over his shoulders easily enough.

Lorne liked the shirtlessness even more. He didn't ogle, but he smirked and smacked his lips when no one was looking. As soon as they had an hour to themselves, they were on Lorne's bed, stripped to their birthday suits, sucking each other off. Sheppard could handle a sixty-nine with a gimped arm, more or less. His tongue did most of the work. It was always a game to them—getting the other person to make loud, embarrassing noises and seeing who could last the longest. Once, they'd made it twenty-two minutes… then Lorne cheated by shoving a finger in Sheppard's ass. Even then, he won by less than twenty seconds, although it was difficult for Sheppard to call something like that a loss.

Today was more of a seven minute day. Sheppard had too much pent-up energy and that whole commando tease had Lorne hard before they'd even gotten their pants off. They were both sprawled on the bed, sweating and staring at the ceiling—they weren't really into post-sex cuddling. Sheppard circled his finger around Lorne's navel, feeling the subtle texture of the fine hairs that grew there. Lorne's abs were a thing of beauty and Sheppard liked touching them.

"Why can't I lick your ass?" Sheppard blurted out tactlessly. Talking was one of the dangers of staying in the same room after sex. Sheppard had never licked a man's ass before, but he'd given his wife oral sex on occasion, and he figured rimming was similar. He sure got a kick out of it whenever Lorne deigned to put his tongue down there.

"I don't like it," Lorne said flatly.

"What don't you like about it?"

"I just don't like it."

That was about as satisfying and answer as "because I say so." Sheppard frowned and sat up, looking down on Lorne, brushing his fingers across Lorne's nipples, making them hard. "Why can't I touch it?"

Lorne answered with a glower.

"It's not like I'm gonna tongue-fuck you," Sheppard said, hearing the reprimand loud and clear. "Seriously, what is it that makes you tense up if I so much as brush my hand down your crack?"

"Because I don't want you to do it," Lorne snapped, backing against the wall and closing off his body. His fists clenched and unclenched and Sheppard knew he'd triggered that fight instinct again. Still, it was not in his nature to tread carefully.

"Half the time, it's not even on purpose. I'm just grabbing your butt so I have something to hold onto while I blow you," Sheppard pointed out irritably. "One finger strays a little too far and suddenly, you're set back five minutes. Don't you trust me?"

Lorne's glower melted into a dark expression that was hurt, then contrite, then guilty. "No. Not with that."

"Well that's bullshit," Sheppard griped. He'd expected a reflexive 'of course I trust you' or a more tentative 'yes,' but not a flat 'no.' He needed to remedy this. "Flip over. I'm gonna rim you."

"No," Lorne said quietly, his chin jutting out like a child willfully denying a parent.

"Five minutes. Five honest minutes," Sheppard negotiated. "If you hate it, I'll never ask again. I just want to get you used to the fact that I can touch you there and not hurt you."

"No."

"Why!" Sheppard demanded. "And do not say you don't like it. How do you know until you try? Until I try? Maybe whoever did it before did it wrong."

"How many ways are there to lick a guy's ass?" Lorne bellowed, looking both curious and defensive.

"You manage to surprise me every time," Sheppard offered. He honestly didn't know, but he'd never learn if Lorne didn't let down his guard just a little. It was all the more frustrating to know that the uncomfortable look on Lorne's face stemmed from a total and utter lack of trust. Dropping his voice, Sheppard scooted onto Lorne's lap and cradled his face. "I can tell pretty easy what you like and what you don't. This isn't about that. You give me a solid reason why you don't trust me or you lend me five minutes of trust so I can show you there's nothing to be afraid of."

Sheppard's hand slid from Lorne's face, over his chest, then across his hip, massaging his butt cheek.

"I'm not afraid," Lorne growled. He glared harshly at Sheppard, his eyes so dark with fear and mistrust that Sheppard nearly backed down. But he'd come this far and he didn't have a black eye yet, so he kept on. Leaning in close enough so they were pressed cheek to cheek, he slid his hand into Lorne's crack, barely deep enough to part the cheeks.

"Sheppard," Lorne gasped, his whole body tensing. There was a silent plea in there and Lorne's hands pressed gently on his chest.

"See how I'm not hurting you?" Sheppard said, pulling his hand free and giving Lorne's butt a light smack. The breath of relief was almost immediate, and Sheppard pulled back, checking to make sure he hadn't ruined their whole relationship with this one little tease. Lorne had his eyes pressed closed and he was concentrating hard on breathing, but whenever he opened his eyes, he wasn't afraid to make eye contact, and that was all the encouragement Sheppard needed.

"Over," Sheppard ordered.

Lorne's jaw moved in a funny way, and his eyes were wide and frightened.

"Five minutes," Sheppard said. "Come on. You know how much I hate talking about this stuff. But I'm tired of dancing on eggshells when I suck you off and I want to clear things up."

Furrowing his brow, Lorne nodded submissively and wordlessly rolled over. Sheppard thought he'd 'dominated' Lorne before, but he realized he'd done it in the context of warring alpha-males. This submissive bullshit freaked him out. In his head, he'd imagined giving Lorne an amazing rimjob that broke all the stigma and left him begging for more. Clearly, that was not going to happen. He still needed to clear things up.

Positioning himself between Lorne's legs, he hooked his hand under Lorne's hips, bringing his ass up, thighs parted, dick hanging between his legs. It was now official—Lorne had the sweetest ass in two galaxies and was perfectly deserving of the name sweet cheeks. He also had a perfectly formed ball sack that he'd started shaving now that Sheppard was sucking him regularly. Manscaping was one of those things that Sheppard never asked for, but really appreciated, and he intended to return the favor eventually.

"I like this view. You have a very bitable ass," Sheppard grumbled pleasurably, demonstrating by giving Lorne's ass a light nip. It was a perfectly permissible touch that Lorne was usually okay with. Only the view was different. Growling lustily, Sheppard kissed the backs of Lorne's thighs and tugged his dick. He sucked Lorne's balls into his mouth, already getting lost in the feel and the taste. Digging his face closer to get his lips suctioned around Lorne's balls, his nose pressed lightly against Lorne's ass and Lorne flinched. A part of Sheppard was horny enough that he nearly hung the conversation and kept sucking, but he forced himself to pull back.

"Okay, and there's the problem," Sheppard said, massaging his thumb over Lorne's dick, trying to redirect his brain toward talking. "I have a nose. I can't take it off. If I'm going to suck your balls the way I _know_ you like… you see my dilemma."

Lorne met his eye, looking apologetic and conflicted. "Try again," he said determinedly.

If Sheppard made a wrong move, he could wind up with a broken nose, but at least Lorne wasn't asking him to stop. Sheppard went in again, and Lorne flinched, just like before, clenching his butt cheeks closed. Frustrated, Sheppard tried something else, dragging his tongue over Lorne's butt, seeing how close he could get to the crack before getting a reaction.

"See, I don't know why I can kiss out here and that's fine," Sheppard complained. He slid his hand over Lorne's smooth ass, admiring it, wishing this weren't a trust issue. Carefully, he slid his fingers in Lorne's crack, scissoring them to spread the cheeks. Lorne's muscles tensed, resisting the spread fervently. Sheppard really wished he had two good hands right now, but these conversations came up when they came up, and now was the time to deal with it.

Lorne's toes curled and he clenched his cheeks, but Sheppard kept sliding his fingers along the crack, framing his asshole without putting pressure on it. Then he swiped his tongue over Lorne's skin, starting at the dimple on Lorne's butt cheek and working his way in. He gave the hole a tentative swipe which made Lorne's whole body shudder. Then Sheppard kept going down, giving more attention to Lorne's balls and his dick. He tried licking Lorne's hole again, and kept massaging with his hand, as though he could distract Lorne with other kinds of stimulation. He knew there was no chance of Lorne getting hard, but it was still hot as hell. After the third swipe of his tongue, Sheppard declared mission 'ass-lick' a bust and moved on to mission 'blow-job apology.'

"Up. On your knees," Sheppard ordered, giving Lorne's ass another smack.

Lorne moved slowly, like he'd lost a part of his soul and didn't know what direction to take in life. Sheppard had seen him stalwart and strong after Wraith attacks and the loss of soldiers under his command, but somehow this little ass-licking was getting to him. Lorne's face was clouded and dark, but he knelt obediently on the bed, arms by his side, dick limp. Sheppard ran the backs of his fingers over Lorne's hip.

"This is a little harder to demonstrate with one hand, but here it goes," Sheppard said, kissing Lorne's stomach penitently and steeling himself for the rest of the conversation. "I could throat you. I really could. But I don't, because I want to put my hands here—" He cupped his hand over Lorne's butt—"and sometimes, if I grip too hard…" He demonstrated, tightening his grip until his fingers started to slide into Lorne's crack. Lorne watched him cautiously, shifting uncomfortably side to side, but he didn't tense up.

"See, you trust me more already," Sheppard said, smiling at the progress. At least he knew this conversation wasn't wasted. Encouraged, he sucked Lorne's dick into his mouth, bobbing his head, just playing around. Lorne got to his feet, squatting to get into an easier position for Sheppard to continue. The silent declaration of want spurred Sheppard on. He smiled when Lorne started grunting, thrusting, and getting harder. Testing Lorne's resolve, Sheppard slid his hand over Lorne's ass, running his finger in small circles around Lorne's hole.

The grunts stopped and Lorne grabbed Sheppard's wrist, their eyes locking.

"Is my five minutes up?"

Lorne nodded, his breathing was shallow, his face covered with sweat. Sheppard knew that the next few moments would either solidify or break Lorne's trust.

"Want me to finish you off?"

The decision to trust hadn't been made yet. Lorne's expression was still lost and conflicted, and kept stroking his half-hard cock. Then, very slowly, he turned around, piking his body so that his ass was right in Sheppard's face. Sheppard stared at Lorne's hole, but he didn't dare go near it until he received instruction from Lorne. At the moment, it seemed Lorne had gone mute.

"Evan?"

Evan pushed his dick straight down so that his balls protruded toward Sheppard and Sheppard laughed. He knew what that meant. Diving in confidently, he sucked Lorne's balls and jerked his dick. He could feel the brief surges of panic going through Lorne, but he'd just pull back and kiss Lorne's thighs until the moment passed. The recovery time got a little faster with each pass. Wriggling between Lorne's legs again, Sheppard got in front so he could suck Lorne off properly. He was a little nervous to try throating without both hands available to defend himself, and decided it was probably best to wait until Lorne was in a better temper. But John didn't want to censor his touching either.

Cupping Lorne's butt, he dragged his hand between Lorne's legs, barely cresting the crack before he reached the balls. Lorne cried out in surprise. The yelp startled Sheppard so much, he nearly choked on Lorne's cock. He loved drawing sounds like that out of Lorne. Sheppard repeated the move, dragging his fingers a little slower, and Lorne made the same yelp.

"Shit!" Lorne cried, leaning forward and bracing both hands on the wall. Sheppard had found an unexpected sweet spot, and he would gloat later when his mouth wasn't full. He ran his hand up the underside of Lorne's dick, through the crest of his balls, then to the skin just behind it and Lorne yelped again. _It's not his ass, so it's fair game_.

Pulling his mouth free, Sheppard lifted one of Lorne's legs, giving himself better access to the area so he could explore this sensitive spot up close. He had read about its existence, but he was not nearly as sensitive there as Lorne seemed to be. Looking up, he grinned devilishly at Lorne, watching his lover writhe as he stroked the skin with his finger.

Lorne grumbled with pleasure, corkscrewing his hips around John's finger, making his hardened dick wag in the air. "Lick it."

John did not need to be asked twice. Nuzzling past Lorne's dick and balls, he kissed, licked, and sucked the small patch of skin. It was hard to get to, but Lorne went wild, his dick straining, his leg muscles rippling. Lorne started jerking himself, which was a travesty, and Sheppard wasn't having that, even if he did have only one hand to work with. He gave Lorne a shove, sending him flopping onto the bed, then he hooked his hands across Lorne's hips, rolling him backwards into some yoga position that also happened to be great for sex. Lorne hooked his knees over Sheppard's shoulders, using his hands to balance himself. They used this position a lot for fingering, but usually it was Sheppard upside down on his shoulders. It was a pretty weird view from the top.

As a first order of business, Sheppard put Lorne's dick in his mouth and sucked hard. Then, using his one good hand, he tried to keep Lorne balanced and play with his balls while teasing that precious sweet spot. Lorne found his revenge, using one hand to jerk Sheppard, and so began the cum battle anew. Lorne came first, his harsh grunts becoming raspy twitters, his body arching and straining so hard that he nearly knocked Sheppard over. Worried for his shoulder, Sheppard released Lorne and rolled to the side of the bed. Hocking, Sheppard leaned over the side of the bed, spitting the cum out of his mouth.

Playfully grabbing Sheppard's hips, Lorne yanked Sheppard back to the center of the bed, positioning him firmly over his face, directing Sheppard's dick into his mouth. It was always fun sitting on Lorne's face, feeling the way Lorne teased his balls with his hands. Lorne knew just what to do and how to angle Sheppard's cock—how to maintain control even when it appeared he'd lost it. Sheppard came loudly, desperately, wanting to hammer harder into Lorne's mouth, but finding his motions subtly controlled by Lorne's strong hands on his thighs.

Laughing from the thrill of orgasm, Sheppard fell back on the bed. When he heard Lorne finish spitting, he dared himself to break from tradition and cuddle. Taking his own dare, Sheppard scooted closer, resting his head on Lorne's chest, but lying his body perpendicularly so they'd have space to cool off.

"Now _that_ was fun," Sheppard said, giving Lorne's nipple a tweak. Lorne thought he was loud because he made noises pretty constantly during sex, but all the grunts and groans he made were quiet ones. Hitting a sweet spot was the only thing that made Lorne scream, and Sheppard loved finding them. "Thanks, you know, for trusting me."

Lorne was silent, going off into his own little world like he often did after sex. He wiped the sweat from his face, then reached down, giving his balls a hard yank, then stroking up his cock like he was trying to milk out what was left. Sheppard knew there was nothing there, because he worked hard to suck Lorne dry.

"It's not bad—the—you know, with the tongue," Lorne stammered quietly, his stomach muscles contracting like the confession made him sick. "Or it wouldn't be. It just scares the fuck out of me."

"I don't know who did this to you, but when I find out, I may introduce him to my gun and show him how fast the bullets fly out of it," Sheppard said, running his fingers over Lorne's bicep as if he could wipe away the fear. It had to have been a person. No one got that freaked out over a notion. He felt a few more waves of nausea rippling along Lorne's torso, and thought maybe he should get his head off Lorne's chest.

"My—my uncle… when he found out I… he was trying to scare me straight," Lorne whispered, choking on every word. "It worked… for awhile."

Sheppard cringed, his face flushing as he realized the severity of the wound he'd opened all because he was annoyed by a little flinch during blowjobs. Turning over, he shimmied up Lorne's body and kissed his chin apologetically. "See, that's the exact definition of doing it wrong."

Lorne's chin quivered, and he wrapped his arms around Sheppard, pulling him into a desperate hug. "They ruined me for you."

The pain radiated off of Lorne's skin, piercing Sheppard's heart. They? There was more than one?

"That's one way to look at it," Sheppard said, nuzzling Evan's neck, planting reassuring kisses over his face. "But if we'd gone about our lives any differently, we might never have met. Or worse. We'd have met, but never come to Atlantis."

"You're very sentimental; you know that?" Lorne said, the surge of pain receding, the peace returning to his face. He tilted his head, exposing his neck for more kisses.

"I'm _secretly_ sentimental," Sheppard said firmly. "Just like we're _secretly_ cute."

"Okay, baby," Evan said, smiling sweetly and giving Sheppard a tongue-fucking, desperate kiss. "I'm glad we had this talk."

#

Now that Ronan treated Lorne like a friend, Lorne understood what Sheppard saw in him. At his core, Ronan was good-natured, loyal, and protective, like a rambunctious little brother. And Lorne couldn't get in trouble for hitting him. Ronan liked to call it sparring, but it wasn't. It was an ass-kicking with friendly overtones. Lorne didn't need an ass-kicking, but he did need to kick some ass.

He couldn't get the rimming out of his head. He kept feeling Sheppard's tongue on his ass, and he wanted so badly for it to feel good, but then his mind would go back to his uncle, and he couldn't handle it; he couldn't enjoy it. He was not the master of his own body and it grated his senses.

Punch, jab, twist, flip.

Lorne cried out, landing hard on his back as Ronan flattened him again. Kicking his legs around, he tried to knock Ronan over, but Ronan kicked him off like a gnat. Rolling to his feet, Lorne charged in, swinging. He jumped high enough to hook his arm around Ronan's head, but before he could twist it off, Ronan jabbed him in the gut.

"_Get off me, you pervert!" Evan yelled at his uncle, jabbing as hard as he could, trying to twist free as the older man dragged him back to the bedroom. _

"_You want to be queer, you're going to learn what it means!" his uncle bellowed, slapping Evan across the face with a belt and then using the belt to tie his hands._

"_Get off me! Stop! Stop!" Evan screamed. His father was outside mowing the lawn, but maybe if he screamed loud enough, his father would hear. _

"_You're going to be the bitch of any man stronger than you," his uncle said, pushing him against the wall. Unable to use his hands to shield himself, Evan's face hit the wall hard, busting the skin._

Lorne's face impacted the wall and he tasted blood on his tongue. Kicking backwards, he aimed for Ronan's knees. With a battle cry, he braced both arms, elbowing hard, forcing Ronan back. He wasn't a weak, little boy anymore.

"_You are a pervert? Are you trying to prove something to me by getting hard?"_

"_No, sir," Evan whispered shamefully. His body was betraying him. Through the pain, he could feel jolts of pleasure and he didn't understand. His uncle's fingers had forced their way inside of him, slickened by his blood. It was the cost of trying to break free of his restraints. Now he was just trying to hold still until it was over._

"_Am I going to have to tell your daddy that you are lost to us?"_

_No matter how loud Evan screamed, his father didn't seem to hear. There was no one to save him. "No, sir."_

Opening his hand, Lorne swiped his fingernails across Ronan's face, slashing the skin. Ronan backhanded him, breaking the skin of his cheek. Whirling around, Lorne dove in again, tackling Ronan to the ground, rolling on the mat, getting in punches where he could, but mostly trying to come out on top. His blood splattered on Ronan's face as they rolled. His vision swam red, the cuts on his face stinging, but he fought for his life.

"_Don't you dare get hard. Don't you dare!" his uncle screamed. _

Choking on his own blood, Lorne cried out. Either he was spinning or the room was. He tried swinging his arms, but they wouldn't move.

"Lorne? Lorne!" Sheppard hollered, leaning into Lorne's limited field of view. This was the death he'd been praying for since that day his uncle had raped him. Lorne flailed against the forces holding him down. He wanted to die fighting.

"Hold still," Ronan said sternly, clamping his hands on either side of Lorne's face. The force on his busted cheek made him scream and choke. He turned enough to hack up the blood in his mouth.

"Beckett, I need a medical team to the gym," Sheppard said.

"I'm fine," Lorne insisted. He tried to get up, but Ronan braced his shoulders and gave him a stern look.

_The belt was so tight that Evan's wrists were bruised and bleeding. His uncle circled threateningly, taunting him with unpleasant touches, making his body jerk reflexively. "If you move one more inch, I'll kill you!"_

"Kill me! Fucking kill me, you bastard!" Lorne shrieked, twisting and kicking against Ronan's bracing hands. Sheppard threw himself on Lorne's chest, clenching his thighs to lock Lorne's hands by his sides. Ronan immobilized his legs so he couldn't move.

"I said hold still, Major!" Sheppard shouted. It was all Lorne could do to hold on to the present, and to trust. It was so hard to trust. He was being held down against his will.

"Sheppard," Lorne choked, feeling like his chest was caving in. "Did I win?"

"You survived," Sheppard offered, looking inconvenienced at having to deal with this, though underneath he was concerned.

Ronan peeked over Sheppard's shoulder, his eyes holding a little more understanding. "Yeah, Lorne. You won."

Lorne nearly sobbed. Dropping his head back to the mat, he lay there bleeding, no longer caring if he lived or died. "I won. Fucking bastard. I won." He repeated those words over and over until he passed out.

#

Lorne sat in his room, curled on his chair, holding a blank canvas and trying to decide if he should recapture the painting that flew over the balcony or start something different. Weir hadn't taken him off active duty, but he'd been forced into daily therapy sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer. Lorne didn't think they made a difference. He didn't like to talk and mostly he just listened to her lecture about coping with childhood trauma. He warned her he'd snap her neck if she tried to hypnotize him and she'd promised not to do it.

He didn't have much time to himself, but the people around him weren't pestering him with questions either. The beauty of having friends who accepted him was that humiliating mental breakdowns were just one more of the thing that they accepted without question. Ronan seemed to get it more than the others. He got that sparring wasn't always about learning new fight moves. He knew when to gloss over the bad memories, because the time was better spent having a drink and a laugh, creating new, good memories.

_New, good memories_.

Lorne couldn't recreate his lost painting. Then he'd just look at it and think of the original flying over the edge when he decked Everett; he'd think of all the other shit that had stirred up. It was time to write that one off. A part of him wanted to paint Sheppard, but he had never done a nude before and if it turned out badly, he'd be embarrassed.

"Hey," Sheppard greeted, coming into the room brusquely. "I left my shower caddy here."

Lorne smiled brightly at his muse. "Hey! Your splint's gone!"

"Yep," Sheppard said, flexing his arm, showing off his limited mobility. "Two more days of PT and I'm back on active duty."

"Okay, but if our sex life starts to suffer, I'm breaking your shoulder again," Lorne warned. Sheppard got really randy when he couldn't work out and no amount of sex could expel all that energy.

"You didn't break it the first time," Sheppard said snidely, his lip curling into a quirky grin. Coming over to Lorne, he embraced him with both arms, sliding his hands into Lorne's shirt and rubbing them over his chest. Closing their eyes, they pressed cheek to cheek. Lorne had hated not kissing at first, but with Sheppard, these little moments felt more intimate than any kiss.

"How are you?" Sheppard asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"I wish you'd stop asking that," Lorne said, tilting his face away from Sheppard's, breaking their connection.

Sighing, Sheppard withdrew his hands, pacing the room. "Well, I _see_ that you look better and I don't know _how_. Makes me think you're just faking it."

"You know how," Lorne shrugged, running his fingers across the empty canvas. "It's like any other battle scar you carry. Some days it hurts so bad, you think you'll die from the pain. Then you look around, realize the world's still turning, and you find a way to join it again."

"Sweet. Did you learn that in therapy?" Sheppard sneered.

Lorne glowered. "I don't like to brood on what's lost."

"So you won't mourn me when I'm gone?" Sheppard teased, snaking his arms over Lorne's chest again.

"Not for a minute," Lorne deadpanned, giving Sheppard a playful peck on the lips. "Okay, I'll throw a kick-ass memorial service but after that nada. Should I invite your family?"

"They'd be a little irritated if you didn't," Sheppard nodded. "And my brother really knows how to hold a grudge."

Laughing lightly, Lorne pulled Sheppard into his lap. Sheppard wrapped his arms around Lorne's neck and leaned his face in close, being peacefully intimate without forcing a kiss.

"I have a sister I still talk to," Lorne said. Talking to Heightmeyer made no impact, but talking to Sheppard did sometimes. Lorne didn't want to dump all of his burdens on Sheppard, but sharing a little of the load helped. Lorne didn't imagine they'd grow old together, but maybe they could get in a few good years before the Wraith took one of them or the other.

"Can I ask you something—and don't be offended by it," Sheppard said, shifting in Lorne's lap, trying to keep the arm of the chair from digging into his back. "When did you become such a cuddler?"

Lorne smiled and nuzzled Sheppard's neck. "Well, it happened slowly. First, I realized you weren't going anywhere, and then I freaked out a little, and then I decided that I didn't _want_ you to go anywhere."

"So… we're in a serious relationship and now we have to do this cuddle thing?" Sheppard asked.

"Don't have to," Lorne said, dropping his arms to his side and releasing Sheppard. "Do you not want me to?"

Sheppard grumbled irritably and pulled Lorne's arms around his waist again. "I don't mind. I'm just used to getting more sex out of it," he said patronizingly.

"I'm sure I can accommodate that," Lorne grinned, kissing tenderly across Sheppard's cheek.

"See, there you go again, being all gentle," Sheppard said.

Lorne switched up his kisses, becoming more fervent and insistent, until Sheppard lost balance and they fell out of the chair onto the floor. "I don't know what's gotten into me," Lorne teased, pinning Sheppard to the ground, sucking the skin on his neck, drawing his tongue over the pulse point, purposely mixing the gentle kisses with rough touch.

"It's this serious relationship thing, isn't it?" Sheppard asked, writhing under the kisses, trying to get his lips on Lorne. "I've never done this with a guy. I don't know the playbook."

"I've never done this ever," Lorne said, obliging Sheppard with a kiss. Shaking his head, Sheppard broke the kiss almost immediately.

"Ever? Never ever?" Sheppard said incredulously, breaking out of Lorne's grip and sitting up.

Lorne lay on the ground, pillowing his head on his arm, looking demurely at Sheppard. "I came out to my family when I was thirteen. Between psychotherapy, shock treatment, Jesus camp, holistic meds, and my mother's mandated of 'grounded until you're straight,' I didn't really have a whole lot of opportunity to find a serious relationship.

"Any fling I found in the military was… brief and secret. I just…" Lorne took Sheppard's hand, entwining their fingers loosely. "That day you came into the infirmary and held my hand, it was… I was more than just a convenient fuck."

"Well, yeah," Sheppard said, encasing Lorne's hand in both of his. "I'm kinda… you know… in love with you."

Lorne shook his head in disbelief. "That blows my mind. Completely. Like when I first learned about the Stargate program, but even more unbelievable than that."

"Don't you think you're worth it?" Sheppard asked, leaning close to Lorne's ear.

Lorne shrugged. He'd never really considered the notion. The other day when Sheppard said he cared, it was a wake-up call. He didn't know how many more meltdowns Sheppard might be willing to see him through, but he also knew that being on his best behavior all the time would more likely drive Sheppard away.

"Well you are. Now sit right here," Sheppard said, tugging Lorne's hand and patting the chair. "I need something to think about in the shower."

"I could join you," Lorne pointed out, crawling back to his chair.

"This from the man who so militantly enforced the single occupancy shower rule that he dragged Lts. Ford and Lake to Dr. Weir's office wearing only their towels?" Sheppard huffed, shoving Lorne's legs wide and kneeling between them. Unzipping Lorne's pants, he started fishing inside for Lorne's cock. "Just because I'm the ranking military officer doesn't mean I get away with shit. There are ways to be naughty without having to face Elizabeth in a bath towel."

"I may have to spank you," Lorne teased.

Sheppard tensed, but then shook it off, stroking Lorne roughly. "Don't even joke about that."

"Noted," Lorne said, dropping the subject. He figured it was like the rimming thing—just shit that was better off buried. Skimming off his shirt, Lorne tossed it on Sheppard's head, laughing as Sheppard balled it up and through it back in his face. There were so many good moments to be shared between them, and connections to be made—they were better than any blow job Sheppard could ever give. But the blow jobs were important too.

#


	3. Chapter 3

The Ones that Break You (Part III)

_(Warning: Rated NC-17 for hot, steamy (but brief) sex!)_

John had been thinking about Evan for the past three nights. John's team had been stranded in a bog, waiting for flood waters to recede so they could get back to the gate. As much as he wanted to run and find Evan, he wanted even more to run to the shower and scrub all the sulfuric smelling mud off his skin so as not to hinder the blowjob he fully expected to receive upon reuniting with his lover. After scrubbing his skin raw, shaving meticulously to get just the right amount of scruffy facial hair, and changing into a fresh shirt, he snuck into Evan's quarters. It was the middle of the night on Atlantis, and he figured he could just crawl into bed and surprise Evan.

All of the lights were still on when John arrived. Evan sat by the window in that weird Atlantian armchair that he loved so much, hugging a pillow and staring out over the water. What touched John the most was that there was the new second chair in the room, equally uncomfortable looking as Evan's. But now there was space for the two of them to sit by the window. Smiling to himself, John crossed the room and sat in his new chair. It didn't feel as uncomfortable as it looked, and the arms were wide enough so that he could sprawl comfortably.

"Is that my pillow?" he teased. They could get a footstool next. Then it would be perfect.

Evan's head lifted off the pillow and he blinked blearily. John had no idea how Evan dozed in these chairs. Nestling to the pillow and closing his eyes sleepily, Evan asked: "Do you mind?"

"I'm flattered actually. When you disappear for days at a time, I just sleep in your bed," he said, his smile growing.

"No, you don't," Evan chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he gazed at John.

"You're right. That would be weird," John agreed. Standing, John took the pillow from Evan's hands and circled behind, kissing the top of Evan's head and letting his hands slide down Evan's shoulders. "I can do some things for you that the pillow can't."

John raked his hands over Evan's body, debating whether he had the patience and energy to tease.

"John," Evan croaked, his whole body shuddering. He pushed John's hands off his chest, but clung to John's wrist.

"I would have thought you missed me more than that," John said disappointedly, trying to shake loose of Evan's grip. Then he noticed Evan's left hand was in a cast. "What is this? What happened?"

Evan cocked his head, like he didn't understand the question, and his grip on John's wrist tightened. John squatted next to the chair, carefully trying to pry his hand free, but keeping his eyes on Evan, waiting for an answer.

"Wraith," Evan said gravely.

"What about them?" Sheppard asked, his mind whirring as he recalled the duty assignments for the week. "You were at M7G-677 right? Did something happen to the kids?"

"They're fine," Evan said, clearing his throat. "Major Thomason's team was captured on M3Y-565. We went in to rescue them. We lost Lt. Lake and Dr. Richards."

"Lost as in…"

"The Wraith fed on them," Evan said, swallowing hard. Up until a few months ago, Richards had worked with Evan's team, so that loss had to have hit pretty hard. John had to wonder if Evan had slept at all.

"It was like some perverted game of duck-duck-goose and we were all tied to poles," Evan continued. "When he came to me, I broke out of my restraints and slashed his throat. We made it through the gate before the other Wraith even knew we were gone."

"Good for you," John said, patting Evan's hand. He knew what it was like losing people on a mission. It wasn't the kind of thing that a night of cuddling with an incredibly sexy lover could cure. Touching Evan's cast, he asked: "Is it broken?"

"Only way to get out of the restraints," Evan shrugged. That meant he'd broken it himself. Just thinking about it made John cringe.

"That's the worst of it, though, right?"

Evan pushed up his t-shirt, showing off a Wraith feeding wound on his chest.

"Funny. You don't look like you've aged more than a day," John said, making a face. Now he was starting to wish he'd debriefed before running in here for sex.

"I was lucky. Beckett released me last night. I think most everyone is out of the infirmary now, except Thomason. I don't think she's gonna make it," Evan said, his eyes going back to the window.

"Think positive. Thomason's here because she's the best of the best," John said. Evan nodded. It was a soldier's nod, processing horrors the way they'd been trained to process any other war story—seeing it for the win.

"Get dressed. I'm gonna go see Thomason, then you and me are going for a run," John decided, jumping to his feet, powering through his own exhaustion. A run was exactly what John did not need right now, but he couldn't stand the thought of Evan brooding in that chair a moment longer. Although John had been hoping for a quick circle jerk and a long snooze, Evan wasn't going to close his eyes anytime soon.

"That sounds good," Evan said, a soft smile on his face, looking rejuvenated from the mere thought. That look reminded John of what Evan had said about battle scars—how the world kept turning and you just found a way to join it again.

"I can't believe you've been through this more than once," Evan said, rubbing his chest, gingerly tracing the outline of the feeding wound.

"You know how spry I am," John smirked. When Evan bent down to get his shoes, John hooked a finger into Evan's pants and glanced down.

"Hey!"

"Just checking, sweet cheeks," John teased, giving Evan's ass a light smack. "I'll still love you when you're wrinkly and gray, but I'd like you to get there naturally."

"Thanks, baby. Give me a minute; I'll come with you to the infirmary." Laughing, Evan hooked his arm around John's neck to tackle him, but the contact agitated his chest wound, and in the end they wound up in a rough kiss.

Sheppard used the word 'love' as often as he could. It was hard to say, but he knew that Evan needed to hear it. He didn't mind that Evan never said it back. Evan said it in little ways—like commandeering a second chair for his room. John could read the sentiment off of Evan's face, so the words would have been wasted.

#

Major Casey Thomason was worse off than John had imagined. She was once a beautiful brunette with deep, brown skin, and exotic Polynesian features. She'd turned his head when she arrived on Atlantis with her looks, her charisma, and her charm. Were it not for the fact that John already had his eyes on Evan, he'd have pursued her. From what he'd heard, she'd shot down a lot of guys on Atlantis. It was undecided whether her 'fiancé back home' was real or not, but if he was real, it made what the Wraith did to her all the more tragic. She'd aged at least thirty years; her hair was gray and her skin wrinkled.

When John and Evan came into the infirmary, she smiled at Evan like he was her hero and they made friendly banter about Ben-gay and early retirement. Thomason planned to stick around for the memorial service of her two fallen teammates, and then head back to Earth. There was no mention of the fiancé. The bravado in her voice was forced, like she'd already gotten the news that she wasn't expected to survive the week.

Seeing her like this pissed him off, but he was too exhausted to be angry. Sheppard had been worried enough about staying awake long enough to have sex with Lorne. He wasn't ready to skip sleeping altogether, but the more energy he zapped from Evan, the easier tomorrow would be. Burning past the anger and the frustration of helplessness, they cauterized the battle scars with physical exertion. They ran to the edge of the city, jacked each other in the first science lab they found, and then ran to the other side of the city and went skinny dipping off a pier. They did a hundred pushups in the gym, and then went back to Evan's quarters where they fucked until John couldn't feel his own legs. John passed out on the bed, completely drained, but Evan was just getting started.

#

When John awoke, his body was sore, and he wanted desperately to keep sleeping, but the light streaming through the open window and his grumbling stomach were on a different mission. Rolling away from the light, he pulled the sheet over his head and tried to ignore all the different nagging thoughts keeping sleep at bay. Evan's bed was smaller than his, but that was no reason to be in it alone. After all he'd tried to do to wear Evan out, he'd still slept alone.

Pulling the top sheet around himself like a robe, John rolled out of bed and padded barefoot across the room, nudging his clothes and shoes into a pile. It was almost ten, and his team was debriefing at one, so he had time.

Evan was curled in his chair, one leg draped over the arm, sleeping soundly. John decided he'd try to requisition a lazy-boy recliner or something, because a man as big as Evan should not be sleeping in a chair that small. Evan had the easel set up, but the paints weren't out. Coming around to peek at the canvas, he was surprised to see a sketch of himself, lying naked on the bed. It should have felt creepy, but it just felt weirdly flattering.

Waking up, Evan noticed John studying the drawing and flushed.

"You could at least paint some pants on me," John ribbed. The comment probably would have held more weight if he'd been wearing more than a sheet when he said it.

"That would defeat the point," Evan said, coming next to him and considering the sketch with an artistic frown.

"What is the point? Where would you even hang something like this?"

Evan shrugged.

"You could paint yourself with me. Maybe with a hand right here," John said, pointing to the crotch area. In his mental self-image, his dick was significantly more prominent a feature.

Evan laughed, sliding an arm around John's waist. "Do you want me to throw it out?"

"That would mean it had left this room, and I don't want that," John said firmly. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how utterly embarrassing it would be if anyone but the two of them ever saw this picture. He was still morbidly curious to see how the painting turned out.

"Come on," he said, tugging Evan's hand and changing the subject. "You have a thing with Heightmeyer."

Evan grumbled irritably, tugging free of John's grip, but obediently finding fresh clothes. He hated his mandatory therapy sessions, but after everything that had happened recently, it was the price of staying on active duty. Evan stalled as much as possible, combing his hair and shaving his face, insisting that he had to look 'presentable and sane.' John didn't realize what a big deal it was until he ruffled Evan's hair and Evan made a face, like he was being picked on too much, and started the meticulous combing process again. They walked together to Heightmeyer's office and the whole way, John had to fight with himself about taking Evan's hand in public. Being discrete sucked.

When they got to Heightmeyer's door, John started mumbling about going to his quarters and sleeping some more. Then Evan gave him a lost, pleading look, and a head tilt that beckoned him to go in. _What could it hurt_? Their reunion hadn't been the relief John had been hoping for, and he didn't want to be parted from Evan, even for an hour. Maybe they could cuddle on the couch during the session.

"Colonel Sheppard? Is there something I can do for you?" Kate asked, her concern piqued when she saw him enter behind Evan.

"Can he stay?" Evan asked tersely. It was downright rude, and not like him at all.

Kate looked surprised as well, but she nodded and motioned to the couch. "If you would like."

Evan and John exchanged a look, then Evan walked over to the couch, plopped down on one side, and rested his hands by his sides. His shoulders slumped and his eyes became dull, like he was some kind of robot that had shut down. It wasn't how John pictured therapy, and it felt like he was intruding on something private by being here. Maybe he was just exhausted.

Eyeing Kate warily, John made his way to the couch and sat next to Evan. He may as well have been taking a seat at a table full of armed Genii soldiers for how uncomfortable he felt being here.

"Do you know about the two of us?" John asked uncertainly. He needed to know how close it was safe to sit.

"Know what?" Kate asked, clearly clueless.

John smacked Evan's arm, asking Evan the question with his eyes. Evan shook his head, saying she didn't know. John raised an eyebrow, asking how to proceed. Rolling his eyes, Evan turned to Kate.

"John and I—we're… what's the word? Lovers?" he asked, looking irritated.

Despite knowing that they were serious about each other, John didn't like that word—not out loud at least. "Significant others… very significant," John amended. Lorne shrugged his agreement, and his expression went blank again.

"Oh," Kate said, failing to hide her surprise. "You two have kept this very quiet."

"And we'd appreciate your continued discretion," John said, a warning in his voice. "It's not a _big_ secret, but you saw what happened with Everett."

"Of course. What's said here does not leave this room," Kate agreed quickly. Adopting a pleasant smile, Kate folded her hands and turned to Evan. "Evan, why did you invite John to come today?"

Evan shrugged, picking lint off of his cast, never lifting his eyes.

"We lost two people this week—Richards and Lake," Sheppard spoke up, hoping that would help Kate understand Evan's weird behavior. "We might lose Thomason."

"Do you want to talk about them?" Kate asked, turning her attention to John.

"Not really," John said, feeling affronted. _He_ wasn't here for therapy. "It's just… we were, before we came here."

"About anything in particular?"

John looked at Evan again, but Evan had apparently been possessed by the spirit of an insolent, mute teenager.

"I guess we weren't using words so much," John said, smacking Evan's arm again. "Hey. This is your session. Talk."

Evan made a face and looked at the spot on his arm John had hit. His gaze flitted across the couch, but his chin never lifted. Taking John's hand, Evan's body rocked as he breathed in the comfort of the physical contact. His eyes closed and his lips parted like he was going to speak, but then the moment passed and his expression went vacant.

Clasping Evan's hand, John looked to Kate for guidance, but she didn't seem concerned. She asked a few more probing questions about the lost officers, which Sheppard deflected easily. John turned the conversation to football, because he knew if he spoke trash about the 49ers, Evan would join in eventually. After a few minutes, Evan turned sideways on the couch, staring appreciatively at John. John offered him a wry grin and kept going.

"I thought you were dead," Evan said, his voice ghostly quiet. The words stopped Sheppard midsentence.

"Well, I'm not," Sheppard said flatly. Kate made a signal, encouraging him to press for details. Sitting sideways to face Evan on the couch, John closed Evan's hand in both of his, and tried to pretend they were having this conversation in private. "Why did you think that?"

"You didn't come back with us."

"I didn't go out with you either."

Evan nodded, his brow furrowing as he processed the information. "I thought you were. He said your name—the Wraith. He said…" Evan trailed off again, pressing his broken hand to his wounded chest. "I can't remember."

John pressed his lips together in frustration. He did not like the sound of Wraith talking about him.

Seeming to shed the catatonic cloak, Evan sat up straight, checked his watch, and turned to Heightmeyer. "Are we done?"

"No, you're not done," Sheppard answered sharply. "You just sat here and you haven't said anything. If you won't talk to her, talk to me."

Evan slumped on the couch, looking hurt and betrayed. Turning over John's hand in his, he brushed his thumb over John's palm. Fidgeting and biting his lip, he glanced uncertainly at Heightmeyer, then focused his eyes on John.

"I used to fuck Richards," he said bluntly, averting his eyes as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

John pursed his lips, realizing Evan had lost more than a teammate this week. "I'm regretting this, but go on."

"I broke it off when you and I got serious. That's why he transferred to Thomason's team," Evan said penitently.

"And you feel guilty for his death?" Heightmeyer asked.

Evan shifted uncomfortably at the intrusion, and scooted closer to John on the couch, squeezing his fingers, trying to stay focused. "The Wraith wasn't feeding at random. If Richards had been with my team, maybe Lake and Thomason would be... okay."

"What makes you think the Wraith had some master plan?" Sheppard asked, becoming more disturbed by the moment.

"Because," Evan furrowed his brow, fighting to remember. Neither feeding nor a broken hand would precipitate memory loss, but maybe the loss of Richards had elevated the level of trauma. "He called Richards 'McKay' and he called me 'Sheppard.' I guess we all look alike to them. But he didn't know the women. He wasn't afraid to kill the women."

So the Wraith thought he'd captured Sheppard's team. "Why wasn't this in your report?"

"Because I just remembered it," Evan snapped. "That's why he said your name. He was looking at _me_ and… 'Tell me what I want to know, Sheppard, or watch your friends die.'"

"What did he want to know?" John asked. Evan's head lolled sideways against the couch cushion, his eyes closed. _Had sleep finally caught up with him?_ "Evan?"

Evan jerked up, then rubbed his face. "I'm hungry. Do you want to eat?"

"No, I want to finish this damn conversation," John said, ripping his hand out of Evan's, hoping to get his attention that way.

"John, let him guide us," Kate suggested.

Evan glared at her, jumping defensively to his feet. "Don't hypnotize him. Don't—"

Suddenly, Evan pitched forward.

#

John didn't want to seem like he was hovering while Beckett checked out Evan, so he pretended he had other business in the infirmary. In point of fact, he did. While Thomason was still breathing, he had to extract as much intel about the Wraith as possible. Her report had been as sparse as the others—phantoms, torture, death, escape.

Thomason looked even worse than she had yesterday. Her skin was sallow, her eyes half-closed. She wasn't even propped in a sitting position anymore. Beckett had an IV dripping pink fluid into her arm. It looked like the white sheet was just waiting to be pulled over her head.

She smiled weakly as she spoke to him, the light coming back to her eyes as she recounted the heroic actions of her team. She remembered distinctly the sound of Lorne breaking his own thumb to get free of the restraints and the splatter pattern of the Wraith's blood across everyone's faces when Lorne killed it.

"Major, did the Wraith say my name when he was questioning you?" Sheppard asked.

"He wasn't interested in me like that," she joked, pursing her lips. Sheppard resolved to come visit her more often, because she looked less sickly when she spoke to him. "Mostly he questioned Major Lorne."

"Lorne said that he said my name," Sheppard said. "I'm looking for confirmation."

"I definitely remember hearing it. I thought I had dreamed it; that's why it wasn't in my report," Thomason said, rubbing her forehead, then shuddering as she felt the wrinkled skin. "Do you suppose it was some sort of mass hallucination?"

"Possibly, but I'd like to get to the bottom of it," Sheppard said. "Do you know what the Wraith was asking for?"

Thomason blushed. It was weird, because she looked both old and young when she did it. "You're gonna think I'm crazy."

"Say it anyway. If it was a mass hallucination, it may clue us in to their motives."

Thomason took a deep breath, smiled, and then shrugged. "He was asking about the clowns."

"Clowns?" Sheppard repeated, both eyebrows shooting up.

"I warned you. Crazy," Thomason said, laughing. "He wanted to know how big their armies were, how fast their Volkswagons traveled, and who was sending them in."

Sheppard burst out laughing.

"You see why I didn't put it in my report. It's crazy," Thomason said, laughing with him.

"No, it makes perfect sense," Sheppard said, clutching his stomach. "A few months back, that Wraith worshiper Neera asked why we didn't fear the Wraith and I started rambling on about clowns. I can't believe that intel made it to other hives!"

Thomason started laughing so hard her eyes welled with tears. The sweet timber in her voice had been marred by the damage the Wraith had done to her body, and her voice warbled, but it was still a beautiful laugh. "Well, Sheppard, your failing diplomatic skills have instilled some healthy fear into the Wraith. If another one asks, I'll be sure to warn them of the dangerous clowns."

Sheppard knew how badly it hurt to be this old before his time, and how difficult it was to laugh, so he tried to hold his own laughter back, but she kept going on about clowns and he nearly fell on the floor laughing. Her joy was contagious. If it weren't for Evan, Sheppard could have fallen hard for Thomason. He decided not to dwell on it, because it only brought to mind the question: how would he feel if Evan were in this bed, aged thirty years, knocking on death's door from the trauma?

#

Evan woke up warm and cozy in his own bed. He sighed contentedly, already smelling John's hair gel and feeling his warmth. Opening his eyes long enough to see Sheppard sitting next to him on the bed, reading a book, Evan nestled toward him, throwing his arm across John's lap.

"Hey, sleepy head," John said, petting Evan's hair. "You want some soup?"

"I thought you were dead," Evan said, pressing his face against Sheppard's leg, convincing himself that this wasn't a dream.

"You mentioned that," John said. "How's your memory? Is it going too?"

"Why am I not in the infirmary?"

"Beckett said you just had a blood sugar crash from not eating," John said, rubbing Evan's shoulder rapidly, signaling that he wanted Evan off his lap. "It's nothing fatal. Eat your soup."

"Did you tell Weir about the Wraith?" Evan asked, forcing himself to sit up. He felt dizzy again and black spots swirled in his vision.

"Yep," John said, putting a steady hand on his shoulders, and holding out a thermos. "Eat your soup."

"And Thomason? And the others? Did they remember what he said?" Evan asked urgently.

"They did," John assured, manhandling Evan to get him to sit back against the headboard. "Eat. I promise I'll tell you everything. Just eat."

Following John's lead, Evan leaned wearily against the headboard and took a sip of soup. He hated soup, but after all the MREs he'd had in his military career, he could eat anything. It was supposed to be chicken broth, but it tasted like oil and salt. It was easy on the stomach, and he felt his energy coming back as he drank it.

Slouching on the bed, Evan leaned over and rested his head on John's shoulder. The position was all wrong for their relative heights, but Evan wanted the connection. He felt better when John put an arm around him—safer.

"The Wraith kept making us see things. It was more than the usual phantoms. He tried to make us think we were all being debriefed by Weir, but something wasn't quite right. Something… It felt just like this—where I had a thought and couldn't quite hold onto it," Evan said, looking uncertainly at John.

"Hey, I'm real," John said defensively, pinching Evan's arm. "I talked to Dr. Heightmeyer. She said she's never heard you say so much in the space of an hour. What do you do? Just go there and sit?"

Breaking away from Sheppard, Evan frowned, sitting up stiffly and drinking his soup. "You can make me go. You can't make me trust her."

"What did she ever do to you?"

Evan glared at the soup thermos, wanting to chuck it across the room, but knowing from experience that the smell would last for weeks. He couldn't help getting defensive. It was bad enough that Weir was making him go to therapy, and he trying to be good so the treatment didn't escalate to drugs and electroshocks. He didn't need Sheppard telling him that he was doing it wrong.

Setting the soup on the table, Evan reigned in the surge of rage and decided to work out the frustration with exercise. Going to his drawer, he pulled out some fresh clothes, then stripped out of his shirt and socks.

"Hey, will you stop doing that? We're in the middle of a conversation!" Sheppard hollered, jumping across the room and slamming the drawer shut.

"Do you want to go for a run?" Evan asked evenly, ignoring John's outburst. If he was good—if he stayed calm—then maybe the therapy wouldn't last forever.

"Sit down, Major," Sheppard ordered, pointing to one of the two chairs in the room. "Sit down!"

Evan stared, trying to make sense of the outburst. For all he knew, John could be dead, and he could still be under the Wraith's mind control. If it was his reality, he should be able to control it. Jutting his chin, Evan turned to go on his run. Sheppard charged after him, hooking him by the elbow, throwing him back into the room.

His tenuous hold on his rage snapping, Evan charged back, knocking Sheppard over. He threw a punch, but Sheppard ducked. Evan's head struck the frame of the bed, and all the black spots from before came back with blinding force. What little food he had in his stomach churned miserably. He tried to get away; he didn't want to wake up in a straight jacket. _Never again_.

#

The air in the infirmary was significantly cooler than Evan's quarters, and it did not smell like Sheppard at all. The pain in his body and the IV in his arm made significantly more sense to Evan. He must have been rescued from the Wraith.

"Welcome back, son," Beckett said, shining a light in Evan's eyes. The first few times Evan had woken up in the infirmary, it had scared the shit out of him, but now he associated to place with being safe and through the worst of the battle.

"Did I beat him?" Evan asked, wincing as his nerves woke up enough to tell him just how bad a beating he'd taken. "Did I win?"

"I'm afraid not," Beckett said seriously. "That's the last time I leave you in Colonel Sheppard's care. How are you feeling?"

_Sheppard's care?_ Evan went stiff. "That Wraith is still in my head."

"Not according to any scan I've been able to run," Beckett assured, shining a pen light in Evan's eyes. "Maybe I should call Kate."

"No, I'm fine," Evan said quickly, sitting up, ready to rip the needle from his arm and bolt. "I'll just go for a run. It'll clear my head."

"First you're going to eat, son," Beckett said. "Have you even had a full meal since you came back from the mission?"

Evan smiled congenially and shook his head. Even though Evan knew Beckett called everyone 'son,' it made Evan feel safe and cared for. At least it did now that he'd stopped imagining his own father saying it. Beckett was different; Beckett only fixed what was broken. "I can eat."

#

To say John was worried about Evan was an understatement. They fought on occasion; they wrestled. Evan had never gotten that glazed, vicious look in his eyes—not in the bedroom at least. Pulling rank in the bedroom was something John tried not to do, but it freaked him out the way Evan would be talking openly one moment, then just shut down and change the subject. It was like his whole brain was fragmented, or his mind was channel flipping, perusing the options without committing to a course of action. It was not how Sheppard liked sending his people off world.

"Do you think it'd help if I came to more of those therapy sessions with him?" John asked. He and Kate were watching Evan and Beckett talk from a closed circuit feed. John didn't like the idea of being a catalyst in someone else's therapy, but he wanted Evan to be okay.

"I think it would help more if we stopped having them," Kate said thoughtfully. "I thought he'd open up eventually, but the longer we go on, the faster he withdraws and the more time it takes him to recover. The first week, he was perfectly pleasant. At the end, he'd always ask 'Am I cured yet?' then he'd laugh and say thank you. Now, he doesn't even pretend that it's helping."

"Well, he went through a lot of therapy as a kid," Sheppard shrugged. "His parents kinda thought it'd 'cure' him of the whole liking men thing."

"That would have been helpful to know," Kate said quietly, crossing her arms. "That's not in any of his records."

John felt a chill go up his spine. "Don't tell him I told you."

"And the hypnosis—that was something else they tried?" Kate asked.

"That, shock therapy, drugs… I still don't know that his uncle did to 'scare him straight' but it must have been pretty awful, because…" Sheppard trailed off. He hadn't realized how much all this information had weighed on his heart and how helpless he'd felt to do anything about it. As much as he needed to share, it still felt like a betrayal. "You know, he'd be pissed if he knew I was telling you this."

"I'm glad to know he's talking to someone."

"Hmm," Sheppard said. Honestly, he wished Lorne had dumped those things on Heightmeyer, because he sure as hell didn't know what to do about it. "You know, I've known him for years, and I thought he was fine. But I guess he's good at faking it."

"No, I think he is fine," Kate said, smiling to herself. "That charming, social man that everyone sees—the one who follows all the rules and is loyal to a fault—that is who he is." She turned to John, gesturing with her arms. "Think of his psyche like the city of Atlantis. There are a few piers that are flooded and a few towers that are broken. If we have one broken tower and it falls, the rest of the city won't come crumbling down."

"So long as you bring it down carefully," John pointed out ruefully, massaging his bruised temple. "You know, all I have to do to blow his mind is tell him I care. It's like he doesn't even believe it's possible."

"Given what you've said about his family life… who else would have taught him about love?"

Sheppard reeled. All the times he'd told Evan he loved him, he knew it was important. He didn't know it was _that_ important.

#

Lorne felt better now that he'd had two square meals and a stern lecture from Beckett about replenishing electrolytes after Wraith feedings. He'd been cleared for duty, and was changing quickly into his BDUs so he'd be ready for this evening. His team was training some of the new recruits—a process that mixed war game strategies with incessant warnings about how scientists could royally screw up maneuvers. Buttoning his shirt was difficult with a cast, but not impossible.

He groaned when Kate came into the infirmary. He'd already missed the first twenty minutes of their session, and if they started the hour now, he'd be late for the training.

"I was sick, Doc. Can't we postpone?" he griped.

"I thought we'd just cancel our appointment," Kate said, smiling sympathetically. "In fact, I thought we'd cancel all of them."

"Really?" Evan said, stunned. He wanted to dance, but he held out just in case this was a hallucination.

"I can see that it hurts you to be there and I care about you too much to keep making you do it," she said. "If you ever want to talk—really talk—you know where my door is."

Evan went from stunned to speechless. _She hurt me? She cares?_ He couldn't hear anything else she was saying. Mentally, he ran through the roster of new arrivals, trying to remember if any additional therapists had arrived, because it was possible she thought him hopeless and just wanted to hand him off to the next doctor. Then she smiled and waved goodbye.

"Thanks for the pie," Evan called after her. It was the only thing he could think to say—the only thing good she'd ever done for him before this moment. Falling back on the bed, Evan smiled broadly, letting the news sink in. _I survived_! Then he started dancing.

"You could at least wait until she's gone to start dancing," Sheppard remarked, coming into the room.

Laughing, Evan grabbed John by the shoulders, and pulled him onto the bed, kissing fervently, joy bubbling over.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Beckett griped, kicking over a tray table, breaking the aura. Sheppard and Lorne burst out laughing.

#

John raced Evan back to his room. He had to, or risk having Evan tear his clothes off in the middle of the hallway. John's room was closer to the infirmary and his bed was bigger, and given Evan's mood, it was probably the safer option for sex at the moment.

They garnered a few looks as Evan chased him through the hallway. They had exactly twenty-eight minutes before Evan had to go to that training thing, but Sheppard planned to be done in fifteen. Evan could get away with showing up to a workout all sweaty, but Sheppard had a meeting with Weir in half an hour, and he didn't want to smell like sex. He still wanted to have it though.

As soon as the door closed. Sheppard whipped off his shirt and clothes. Showing up to a meeting in a fresh outfit was a dead giveaway that he'd had sex. It'd probably be obvious enough from the grin plastered on his face, but it wasn't polite to rub it in.

Evan liked rubbing. Pulling John atop of himself like a blanket, Evan rubbed their groins together, nipping and kissing Sheppard's lips, massaging their tongues together. John felt shivers and fires ignite on his skin as he kissed back, surrendering to the passion. This was so much better than the sex they'd had the other day; it was sourced from joy, not anguish.

Grabbing the lube from his nightstand, John squeezed a few drops onto Evan's fingers. With one hand in a cast, Evan couldn't cleanly manipulate the bottle. Evan could show up to training sweaty, but if his cast smelled like Astroglide, that would just be humiliating.

John groaned with need, running his lips across Evan's skin, crying out when he felt the first finger pressed into his ass. He'd always known he was bi, but he'd never known how sensitive he was inside until Evan started playing his body like a harp. John was learning not to be embarrassed by the way Evan could make him come from the inside. He rolled his hips against Evan's fingers, feeling pre-cum leaking from his cock. He cried out with every pass of Evan's fingers against his prostate.

"Fuck," John groaned, grinding his hips fervently against Evan's, wanting his lover to get harder faster so he didn't come before he got properly fucked.

Evan teased mercilessly, pulling his finger back, making John chase his hand, bobbing his ass in the air. They exchanged a look, Evan gloating at the power he had. Smirking, John fished his hand between them, rubbing a sweet spot just below Evan's rib cage. The growl and buck of Evan's hips was just what he'd hoped for.

"Touch me, John," Evan begged, pulling his fingers out of John's ass, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, his body arching, his muscles rippling.

Attacking Evan's chest with his lips, John moved his hands to the nethers. He licked and teethed Evan's nipples, only occasionally brushing by the two sweet spots Evan had on his torso, because he didn't like to abuse his tricks. With both hands, he started jacking Evan hard. One hand he ran up and down Evan's shaft, using lube to make his hands glide easily. Then with the fingers of his other hand, he teased Evan's balls, and perineum, making him scream, but more importantly, getting him rock hard in no time flat.

Straddling Evan's hips, he positioned Evan's cock on his ass, and slid down quickly. It hurt a little, but the lube helped, and John was getting experienced enough at this that he didn't tense up as often as he used to. He still appreciated that Evan always waited for his signal before he moved again.

Grinning ear to ear, John leaned over Even, wrapping his arms around Evan's neck. They both had lube on their hands, and it didn't matter. Evan corkscrewed his hips, letting his dick slide over John's prostate, and John buried his keening grunts in Evan's shoulder.

"You feel so fucking good," John said, bouncing on his thighs, fucking himself on Evan's cock. Evan took the encouragement to heart, jack-hammering hard, keeping their bodies pressed together, and their lips locked. It was the very definition of a missionary sex position that John had always sworn off, but today he wanted it badly. Every pound of Evan's cock made him cry out, and he surrendered to the pleasure of it, letting the sounds echo inside of Evan's mouth. His body tensed as he felt Evan coming inside of him, hot, and wet.

Pulling out carefully, Evan rolled their bodies so he was on top. Then he scooted between John's legs and started sucking him off. John groaned lustily, desperately fighting to control his bucking hips. His skin was so hypersensitive that he could feel the tip of Evan's tongue teasing around the ridge of his cock. Then he felt two fingers shoved in his ass, teasing his prostate in time with everything else. His vision tunneled until all he could see was his lover's face, and then he shot off his load. Evan sucked him hard, catching his seed, his fingers still moving rapidly, inciting aftershocks to the orgasm. He kept coming until it hurt, and finally he pushed Evan's hand out of his ass.

"_That_ was fun," Sheppard panted, watching Evan, waiting for him to spit before forcing a kiss. But Evan didn't spit; he swallowed. Sheppard's eyes widened. "And _that_ was fucking hot!"

Hooking his hand behind Evan's head, he pulled him into a kiss. He never would have asked Evan to swallow, but Evan did it anyway, and John knew he was loved.

#

Three days with no psychotherapy and lots of sex had done wonders for Evan's mood. He'd worried that telling John about Richards would have put a damper on things, but John hadn't mentioned it since that day in Heightmeyer's office. At the memorial service, Evan said a few words and afterwards John had pulled him aside, asking for the _real_ speech—the one that acknowledged the other man as more than a colleague. Evan didn't really have one. He and Richards had been fucked, but they weren't lovers. It was still nice to be able to acknowledge the relationship.

The cafeteria was packed again, the latest delivery of pie having drawn a crowd. John had taken his to go. It was nice to go places in public together, but in aligning himself with his CO, Evan had alienated a lot of his lower-ranking friends. It was becoming more and more difficult to float between social circles.

"I see I've gotten you addicted to the pie too," Kate said, smiling cheerfully as she slid into the empty seat across from him at the table.

"Last meal before a mission," Evan said, starting to eat faster so he'd have an excuse to leave. He forced a social smile. "This is dangerous stuff. I bet if we gave apple pie to the Wraith, they'd give up eating humans all together."

"I'm glad to see you in such high spirits," Kate said, taking a slow bite, her body wilting as the pleasure of tasting enveloped her. It was funny watching her display such intense emotion over food; it was like watching a performance.

Evan made a face. "Well, it's nice knowing there's nothing wrong with me anymore."

Kate stopped mid-chew and stared at him. He stopped chewing too and stared back, worried that he'd said something damning. She swallowed quickly and wiped her mouth.

"Evan, there was never anything _wrong_ with you to begin with."

Evan's social smile faltered.

"John told me about your family," she continued, tilting her head sympathetically.

Evan huffed, shook his head, and loaded his fork. "He wouldn't do that."

"He told me about your uncle."

The blood drained from Evan's face. His body went cold. "He wouldn't—why would he do that?"

"Don't be angry with him," Kate said, gushing sympathetically. "I'm glad he told me. It's helped me understand the problem."

"Problem?" Evan repeated, dropping his fork. _Oh, god, oh, god, ohgodohgodohgod, please don't make me go back!_ "It's just more therapy right? No… drugs, no hypnosis, no—"

"No anything," Kate said quickly, cutting him off, holding up both her hands. "The problem was mine—in my understanding of the situation. And in your understanding, as well. I think it's important for you to know that what your family did to you was wrong. It was not in your best interest. It was not going to change you. You do not have a disease; you do not need to be cured."

Evan stared at her, not sure what to make of her speech. His chest tightened, and he felt his muscles start to quiver. He wasn't well; he was a lost cause. "Doctors won't treat you if you're not sick. All those doctors—they agreed—"

"They were misguided," Kate said gently. "You're a good man, Evan. There is nothing wrong with you. There never was."

This could be a dream, a hallucination, or a Wraith trick. This could have been any number of things, but 'reality' was nowhere near the top of Evan's list. Evan stood so fast he tipped his chair over, and he backed away from table, eying Kate uncertainly.

"I have to get geared up," he whispered. He didn't know if she'd heard the excuse and he didn't care.

#

It was supposed to be an easy mission—something Lorne could handle with a broken hand. He'd wound up getting shot in the arm. It was just a graze, but he was still pretty pissed about it. He blamed Dr. Heightmeyer. He couldn't get her words out of his head.

Beckett had barely bandaged Lorne's arm, and he bolted from the infirmary, wanting to find Kate set things straight. He hadn't showered or shaved, and he didn't like seeing a therapist when he wasn't perfectly presentable. A sane person should be responsible for his own hygiene. She could be with a client. She could have a full schedule. He didn't have an appointment.

Pacing up and down the hall, he froze when her door opened. McKay came out, half-waved, ducked his head, and scurried off in the opposite direction. Lorne swallowed hard, knowing he'd just witnessed something he shouldn't repeat. McKay was on edge sometimes, but Lorne had never thought of him as broken.

Kate waited by the door, watching him. "Would you like to come in?"

_Caught_. A million excuses flitted through his mind, but he didn't speak any of them. If he was going to set things straight with her, he'd prefer to do it in private, so he went in. The room felt very dark. Evan went to the window first, looking out, but the moonless sky offered nothing outside. Pacing, he wound up circling the only light in the room, studying the space from all sides. It was the most neutral and emotionally void space Evan had ever seen in this city.

Kate sat on the couch, reading a book, not pressing him to speak or explain his presence—like they were just friends hanging out. After twenty minutes of silent pacing, Evan was still only verging on the precipice of conversation. He'd been to too many therapists' offices, and too many times it wasn't safe to speak or question anything. But Kate had started this conversation and she could answer his questions.

"All that therapy my parents put me through, all those treatments—they were never going to do anything for me?" Evan asked, wanting to make sure he understood.

Kate looked up from her book calmly. "No."

"It couldn't change me. It was never going to fix me," he said, his voice cracking.

"Because you weren't broken," she answered firmly, marking her place and setting her book aside.

Evan nodded, pacing as he processed the information. There were too many parallel truths—the ones he'd told himself and the ones he'd heard from his parents. Nothing matched up. "My uncle—he tried—he almost fixed me. But I was too far gone. That's what he told my parents when they took me to the hospital after."

"You were not too far gone," Kate assured. "You are not beyond help. Your uncle couldn't change who you were. He could only scare you into behaving the way _he_ wanted you to. And he was wrong to do it like that."

"He knew that, didn't he?" Evan stammered, crossing his arms, feeling cold. The bullet wound on his arm throbbed painfully, but it only hurt half as much as the bleeding in his heart. "If he knew… then he raped me."

Evan sank onto the couch, letting the realization sink in—letting the truth he'd known in his heart overwrite the lies that had kept him quiet. For years, he had wanted to talk about what happened with his uncle; he'd wanted to understand. But there was always that uncertainty—if he spoke to a therapist about all the confusing things that had happened, that therapist might side with his uncle, say that it was in his best interest, and tout the effectiveness of the fix. Above all, Evan did not want doctors recommending that kind of "treatment" to other parents. Evan hadn't just been mistreated; he'd been the victim of a crime, and he'd convinced himself that it was just a failed form of therapy

"I believe you," Kate was saying. Evan blinked at her, wondering how long she'd been talking. "Evan, this was not your fault. Do you understand?"

Evan nodded, even though his understanding was lagging. For years, he had accepted himself as a lost cause, beyond all hope; his family's efforts to save him had failed. Now, just the affirmation that _they_ were wrong—not just thinking it in his head, but having someone like Kate say it out loud, over and over—it was like having a blindfold removed. He hadn't failed his parents; his parents had failed him.

Folding one leg to his chest, Evan rested his chin on his knee, biting his lip. He had so many questions that he needed answers to, and for the first time, he could ask a real doctor who he trusted not to side with his uncle. Suddenly, he had a lot to say.

#

The breeze off the pier was warm and gentle, and John lay staring at the sky, his head on Evan's lap. Evan was sitting with his feet dangling over the side of the pier, leaning back on his hands, staring out at the ocean. They'd brought the golf clubs out, but neither of them felt much like playing. They'd been apart for over a month while Evan went back to Earth to deal with family shit.

The trip was a good thing—Evan had charged his uncle with rape, even though it was long past the statute of limitations. Shortly thereafter ten other victims had come forward, accusing the man, and now there was going to be a trial. The shit had piled on because his parents had known, as had the doctor that had treated Evan's injuries, and there were whole lines of accountability that had fallen through. It was like the entire town had somehow failed to protect Evan in his time of need, and now they had to face up to it.

Evan hadn't said much since he'd come back to Atlantis, but based on what he had said, John didn't imagine there was much hope for reconciliation with his parents. It was probably good they had a whole galaxy between them. There was peace in Evan's eyes though, and that was what John cared about.

Bored from just lying there, but not wanting to move, John started tossing a golf ball over his head and catching it. Evan smirked, but didn't interrupt the game. He simply leaned back a little more so that he wouldn't get hit in the face.

"You like women right?" Evan asked thoughtfully, combing his fingers through John's hair. "So tell me, what's the draw?"

John tossed the golf-ball up and caught it again, trying to hide his surprise. Maybe Evan's parents had gotten to him again. Or maybe it was Evan's natural insecurity resurfacing. He quirked his lips and gave a disinterested shrug. "Soft skin, perky breasts, tight, wet hole to fuck."

Evan's eyes rolled up thoughtfully, his fingers dancing in lazy circles over the shell of John's ear, then brushing through his hair again. "So do you see something effeminate in me?"

"Hell, no," John guffawed, thumping his fist against Evan's rock-hard pecks. "I like you because you aren't soft anywhere."

Evan chuckled, flexing his thighs, making John's head move. Little things like that turned John on more than he ever admitted, and he wondered if Evan knew and did it on purpose.

"So you don't mind that I don't let you fuck me?" Evan asked quietly, ducking his head. Seeing that look on Evan's face evoked so much pity that John had to look away. There was no way he'd ever fuck Evan knowing how much Evan hated the mere thought. He did wonder sometimes if he'd ever miss fucking with a woman. The long-term plan for this relationship was always confusing like that, but John had no plans to break it off just to keep his options open.

"No," John shrugged. "I'm not saying if you rolled over for me that I wouldn't jump at the opportunity, but it's not a deal breaker."

"I told you about my uncle," Evan said, his muscles rippling again, this time with nervous tension. John nodded, not knowing how to respond. He took Evan's hand, because that always seemed to help. "You asked awhile ago why you couldn't lick my ass, and that's… he made sure I'd never want anything up my ass ever again."

"Okay," John said uncertainly. He'd figured as much.

"It's really confusing to be hurt like that and still get hard," Evan said, squirming uncomfortably. "I thought I was some kind of masochist—that I just liked the pain. Most guys I've been with don't get more than a little stiff from it. But you…"

"Me," John nodded, understanding. He loved the feeling of Evan inside of him, and he'd beg shamelessly for it. Fortunately, Evan knew him well enough not to make him beg too often. He wasn't sure what to make of the confession though, but he knew why Evan could make him come from the inside. Maybe he should lend Evan that sex book he'd found last year. "Everybody's sensitive in different spots. You've got that one that's right there near your hole that goes way beyond what I feel when you touch me there. I can get you hard in two strokes by touching it."

Evan shuddered and sighed shamefully. "This is inside. I feel it tingling for hours if I so much as get a prostate exam. Then I'd have a flashback, and I'd hate myself for feeling it."

"Hunh," John said, his mouth watering at the thought of exploring just how sensitive Evan was inside. "I guess the doctor and the sterile room turn me off enough."

"I think I'd like it," Evan whispered. "You know, if you fingered me, and I knew it was okay to get hard."

John swallowed hard, willing himself not to get turned on by the thought. It was impossible to fight the instant hard-on, so he focused on tossing the golf ball in the air and catching it, thinking about Wraith or clowns or anything that could turn him off again. "Maybe I'll try that some day. You know, when it doesn't make you shake just thinking about it."

Laughing in relief, Evan caught the golf ball, and then caressed John's cheeks with the backs of his fingers. John closed his eyes and sighed contentedly at the contact. He couldn't say why, but when Evan touched him like that, he felt safe and peaceful.

"I love you, John," Evan said, grinning and lying back to stare at the sky.

It was the first time John had heard Evan use those words, but it wasn't a big deal, because Evan had already said it a thousand times over with the little things he'd done. Still, it was nice to hear. John squeezed Evan's hand and pulled it over his heart, closing his eyes. "Yeah, I kinda figured."

#


	4. Chapter 4

**The Ones That Break You (Part IV)**

John knew he shouldn't be doing it in the middle of the afternoon, but he was picturing Evan naked. It was hard not to when he was watching Evan spar in slow motion. Evan and Ronan were taking the marines through a series of exercises, accentuating every move, showing where the balance and power were in each punch. It reminded Sheppard of all the reasons he loved having sex with Evan. Power, precision, balance. The slow movement got faster and faster.

"Shit," John whispered to himself, shuddering and closing his eyes, throwing mental buckets of cold water on himself. Evan was being stingy with his touch these days and John was hard up and horny. It was Heightmeyer's fault. She was trying to coach Evan past his trust issues, and even John could tell she was pushing him too hard. Telling Evan that only got him upset because he was worried enough about therapy as is, and telling Heightmeyer led to an invitation for a couples session. She didn't get that they just needed to be left alone. John and Evan both had dark moments in their past they'd never let the other explore. It didn't _all_ need to come to light.

Teyla shot John worried looks as she wove through the class, offering guidance to the paired off class members. Once she was satisfied that she'd said all she could without getting accidentally kicked in the face, she left the teams to spar and came over to John.

"I do not understand why the two of you continue to hide your mutual affection," Teyla said exasperatedly.

_Shit!_ She'd caught him ogling. "For one, it has no place in this room. For another, it'd just become gossip. I like my private life being… private."

"No, you'd like it to be very public, but you simply wish for the rest of us to pretend we don't know. Except that one night in the cafeteria when you found fit to display your affections," she taunted.

"You promised me you'd stop bringing that up," Sheppard grumbled, crossing his arms. That day he'd 'come out to his team,' it was only really news to McKay, and John was surprised that rumors had not made it through the city and back again. When it came down to it, McKay simply didn't care about gossip, and Ronan and Teyla were tight-lipped about those things. John was pretty sure that Ronan didn't interact with people much outside of these training classes, so he didn't really have anyone to tell.

Evan took a hit to the shin, busting open the skin. John bolted toward him, but Teyla held him back.

"He is fine. Let him finish teaching," she said quietly. Sheppard bristled, glaring at the apologetic marine holding the stick that had injured Lorne. Teyla's grip on Sheppard's arm tightened. "If your love has no place in this room, then neither does your jealousy or vengeance."

Sheppard's ears burned red and he seethed quietly, knowing she was right. Evan had been taking care of himself for years before Sheppard came along… but he didn't have to now. Didn't he know that he didn't have to be alone? Accepting a first aid kit from another marine, Lorne limped to the bench and started gingerly wrapping his bleeding leg.

_A bench is a good place for an observer_. Trying to appear casual, Sheppard circled around the class, and sat across the bench from Lorne.

"Does it need stitches?" he asked quietly, talking out of the side of his mouth, keeping an eye on Ronan and the others in the class. There were a few marines and mostly scientists getting trained in self defense. Ronan was rallying them all back to the lesson, examining what Lorne had done wrong, and letting them learn from that mistake.

"It's fine, sir. It's gonna leave a hell of a bruise," Lorne said casually. Sheppard stiffened. Lorne hadn't called him by rank in weeks. It reminded John again that his love had no place here. Then Lorne looked up with an all business glance. "Did you need something?"

"Just observing the practice," Sheppard mumbled, all thoughts of his naked lover washed away by that ice cold look.

"Why don't you join in?" Ronan asked, barging into the conversation with his characteristic gruffness. "You're the only one besides Lorne who knows this next sequence well enough to teach."

"I can do it," Lorne snapped. "Just let me wrap this up."

Ronan gave Sheppard a pleading look and Sheppard threw up his hands.

"If he wants his remains splattered across the mat, I'm not going to stop him," Sheppard said.

Ronan's pout turned into a snarl, and Lorne puffed his chest, angry at being stepped over. There was no way to appease Ronan and give Lorne his dignity, and lacking patience, Sheppard figured he'd pull rank if it became a problem.

"Screw it," Ronan said, grabbing both John and Evan by the arm. "I'm taking you both on."

#

Half an hour later, John was still sprawled on the mat in the gym, wishing he'd taken Teyla's advice, stopped pining, and left the gym. Evan lay on the floor, his injured leg propped on the bench, ice packs precariously balanced on his knee and shoulder. Both of them were groaning from Ronan's vicious "demonstration."

"I don't think Ronan's okay with the two of us being together," Evan said, moving the ice pack from his shoulder to his head.

"That's his problem, then," John said snippily. He wasn't out to win base-wide approval, but he didn't like the thought of his own friends not supporting him.

"No, I mean… I think he misses you," Evan said. "You two were really tight, and now I'm in the mix, eating up all your time."

Sometimes Sheppard wondered if Lorne was a mind-reader. "What about you? I almost never see you with your old friends?"

"That's because I didn't have any," Evan chuckled. It physically hurt for Sheppard to hear him talk like that—like he'd never been loved. Evan treated it like a joke, though. "I had people I sat next to more often than others."

"Well, I'm sure they miss you," John said. Evan didn't answer for a long time and John craned his neck, making sure Evan hadn't passed out. "You think maybe I should go talk to Ronan?"

"I don't know. Can you move?"

John lifted his head and shoulders, but his body was stiff. Groaning, he laid back down. He would rather spend the time with Evan anyway. "Nope."

"Did you bring your radio or do we have to wait for someone to find us?" Evan asked, moving the ice pack from his head to his elbow.

Grunting, Sheppard rolled onto his side. "My radio's over there. I guess we wait."

Scooting closer to Evan, he tried to lay his head on Evan's shoulder. Wincing and hissing, Evan elbowed him off.

"Fuck, Sheppard!" Evan shouted.

"Point to a spot that's not bruised and I'll lay my head there," John countered testily.

With a wry grin, Evan pointed to his crotch, and they both cracked up. A lusty fire stirred in John, and he gave Evan a hopeful look asking about tonight's prospect, but Evan pretended not to notice and pointed to his rib cage. It wasn't the most comfortable place to rest his head, but John would take it. Just as he was starting to get comfortable, Weir came in and raised her eyebrow at the pair of them. Lorne jumped up immediately, mumbled an apology, and limped out for the gym as fast as his injured leg would carry him. Weir turned her critical stare to John, but he stayed defiantly lying down.

"What!" he protested. "We're not in your office."

#

Sheppard twisted and stretched, wiping his forehead with his shirt. He'd survived his run with Ronan, and the subsequent ribbing about his age and failing health. He'd have gone another lap if Ronan had pressed him to, but it was late and Ronan was hungry. They ate for a little while, making small talk comparing obscure holiday traditions. It was nice to catch up, even though it was obvious that Ronan was avoiding the burning question: why aren't you with Lorne tonight? Why, indeed.

John took a shower before bed. It was twelve hours before his next mission, and he would have killed for some good luck sex with Evan, but unfortunately, they were on a break… again. It was the second time in two weeks Evan had asked for a finger. John had barely teased the rim, and then Evan tensed and needed to stop. John was fine stopping the ass play; it was stopping everything else that bothered him. There was no sex. Evan didn't even want to sleep in the same room. After the first two instances, John decided he'd stop saying yes. Last night, he'd said no, and that got him kicked out of bed just the same. He didn't know what to do; he was pissed off about the whole thing and all he wanted was to sleep next to his lover.

_Twelve hours_. It'd probably be twenty-four before Evan talked to him again. Damning it all, John toweled off, dressed, and stalked to Evan's room. The door was locked, but John had the code. He hesitated only a moment, but he knew the lock wasn't meant for him.

Letting himself in, John wished he'd hesitated just a moment longer. Evan was sitting naked on the bed, a bottle of lube in his hand. Jumping from the bed, Evan covered himself with a sheet, and blushed hard, looking guiltily at the floor. John was so horny that all he felt was a surge of jealousy and lust.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked coyly, grinning as he swiped the fallen lube bottle from the bed, licking his lips as he eyed Lorne's exposed pecks.

Evan watched him nervously, shifting side to side, worrying the sheet in his hands. Then he squared his shoulders and puffed his chest. "Reclaiming my physical body."

He'd learned that phrase in therapy and John had learned quickly not to criticize or undercut any of those lessons. Sometimes he had to bite his tongue to hold back a joke. Circling behind Evan, he turned one of the chairs toward the bed, plopped down, and sprawled his legs, letting one hand fall suggestively over his crotch. "Mind if I stay?"

Evan's jaw flapped uncertainly, his eyes flickering toward the lube bottle. "You could help…"

"You haven't touched me in two days. You can barely look at me now," John pointed out crossly. "If I start putting my fingers where you don't want 'em, it'll just mess things up even more. I'd rather sleep next to you tonight than experiment with… that."

Nodding contritely, Evan took the lube bottle and sat on the bed. In the awkward silence that followed, John kept imagining himself tackling Evan off the bed and engaging in some naked wrestling, steamy sex, and tender wound-licking until they fell asleep in each other's arms. When Evan dropped his sheet, that urge became even stronger.

Getting on his hands and knees, Evan turned, giving John the best and hottest view of his ass. Every muscle was flexed and hard, the skin smoothly shaved and clean. John's mouth watered just seeing the little dimples on Evan's butt cheeks. He stroked himself through his pants, watching Evan's fingers move over his skin, parting his cheeks, and sliding over his hole. Evan's middle finger drew a small circle around the puckered hole, then pressed lightly. Every muscle tensed and Evan's hand slid quickly down his thigh.

"There's not much to see," Evan murmured, his head dropping in defeat. "I was trying to be ready for you…"

John laughed, pulling his hand off his crotch, and rubbing his jaw.

"Are you laughing at me, Sheppard?" Lorne snarled, his body tensing for a fight. Coming over to the bed, John glided his hand over Lorne's backside, biting his lip when he felt his lover flinch.

"I'm remembering our first time together," John explained, giving Evan's hand a squeeze. "It was my first time having anything up my ass. I tensed like crazy, too, from the moment you reached into my pants. Do you remember what you did?"

"Sort of," Evan said broodingly, slouching on his knees.

John knelt behind Evan, snaking his arms across Evan's torso, hugging him from behind. Then he bent his head down, rubbing his lips against Evan's skin, starting between the shoulder blades and going up the spine, then around to Evan's ear, whispering: "You put your arms around me like this, and you said "We're just having fun, Sheppard. There's nothing that's going to happen tonight that you don't want—that you won't ask me to do over and over again.""

Evan shuddered, his body tensing even more when he felt John's hard-on brushing against his leg. "That's, uh—"

"Uncharacteristically eloquent?" John finished, running one hand down the front of Evan's thigh, trying to soothe the tense muscles. "Yeah, but I'll never forget it."

Evan crossed his arms, clamping his hands over John's wrists, locking John into the embrace, but stilling his hands. "If I remember correctly, you avoided me for two full weeks after that night."

"But I came back," John whispered sweetly, brushing his lips over Evan's neck. "You are so tense right now you couldn't—"

"I know," Evan interrupted, breaking free of the embrace. Finding a towel, he started wiping the lube off his skin, frowning in self-disappointment.

John sat back, frustrated. "Still can't look at me?"

Evan paused, lips parted, looking up hopefully. The conversation that passed between their eyes was filled with all the words they were both too ashamed to speak out loud. There was an apology and an affirmation of love. Evan was beckoning him close, begging for intimacy. But then his eyes drop again. Sheppard knew sex was off the table.

"We could watch a movie or something," Evan mumbled, pulling on his pants.

"Okay," Sheppard shrugged. He wasn't gung ho about the idea, but the invitation to stay in each other's company was a step in the right direction.

When they reached the lounge, Sheppard flopped on the couch and pulled the coffee table close enough to prop his feet up. Lorne put in Indiana Jones—his favorite. Lorne always got handsy after seeing Harrison Ford with his shirt off, and Sheppard didn't know how to take that. When the movie started, Lorne sat on the opposite side of the couch, curling into the corner. Sheppard wondered if it was related to his childhood—why he curled up instead of sprawled out.

Lorne crossed his arms, reaching one hand under his shirt, massaging his neck. His eyes were fixed on the TV screen, his face taking on a catatonic stare. John was starting to regret agreeing to this. Heaving a sigh of frustration, he reached across the couch, and slid his hand under Evan's, massaging Evan's neck.

Evan's eyes widened and they exchanged a look. Sheppard raised his eyebrows. He didn't care how public it was; he wanted to touch his lover. Scooting closer, Evan closed the space between them. Sheppard kicked back the coffee table, making space on the floor so Evan could sit between his legs and he could offer a better massage, but Evan just took a deep breath and laid down on the couch, resting his head in John's lap.

Pleasantly surprised, John hooked his foot under the coffee table, drawing it back so he could put his feet up while he continued the back rub. Evan had been wound pretty tight, but now every breath seemed to relax him a little more, and it made John feel strong being able to offer comfort. A wide grin broke out on his face as he enjoyed the moment of peace.

About half way through the movie, Evan lifted his head and nudged John's legs, making space so they could spoon on the couch. There wasn't quite enough room, and Evan wound up lying half on top of John, his head resting on John's shoulder. It was a familiar resting position, and exactly how John had wanted their evening to end, sex or no. He smirked as he felt Evan's hand slide under his shirt, deciding he could thank Harrison Ford for some things. Wrapping his arms around Evan, he kissed the top of his head. Within two minutes, Evan was asleep. (He always did seem to pass out if his head was rested over John's heart.) John figured he'd wait until the end of the movie to relocate, but somewhere along the way to the Lost Ark, he fell asleep too.

#

McKay didn't often get the opportunity to save Sheppard's reputation. He saved Sheppard's life almost daily, but Sheppard had that Captain Kirk aura about him, so his reputation didn't often need saving. Even with this secret relationship with Lorne, Sheppard had that Kirk-like persona. Lorne did too. Both of them. It wasn't fair. Either one could have any woman they wanted, and they wanted each other. McKay tried not to be jealous.

Leaning over the couch in the lounge, McKay flicked Sheppard's ear. It was ridiculous seeing him and Lorne molded against each other on the couch—nearly impossible to tell whose legs were whose. Sheppard swatted and squirmed, giving McKay the first hint that Sheppard was pinned _beneath_ Lorne.

"Did you enjoy your sleepover?" McKay asked cheekily.

"What time is it?" Sheppard groaned, stretching his body on the too-short couch.

"Six a.m."

"We don't leave for another two hours," Sheppard grumbled, hugging Lorne like a body pillow and settling back down. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I was _going_ to meet with my science team, but all anyone seems able to talk about is the two of you cuddled up in the lounge," McKay said irritably. "I had to restrict access to the security footage and this entire wing of the city. I can guarantee you, that won't stop photos of this moment from going viral."

Sheppard groaned, which wasn't the 'thank you' McKay had been hoping for.

"Do you know what happens when a bunch of hard up science nerds get a hold of a piece of gossip like this?" McKay complained. "All through my presentation, there was whispering and notes, and they weren't about my brilliant plans to supplement power reserves, no."

"We're sorry," John grumbled, closing his eyes for half a second, then peeking one open again. "I said I'd make breakfast for everyone before the mission, didn't I?"

"Pancakes," McKay said, a smile coming to his face. He was glad Sheppard remembered on his own, because he didn't like to nag. "Your special recipe."

Grunting again, John began the process of extracting himself from Lorne's massive, sleeping body.

"You're not going to leave him here, are you?" McKay asked, suddenly concerned. "Elizabeth made me unlock this room. He is the center of today's gossip. If you leave him here sleeping, people will draw on his face or put shaving cream in his hand. You can't leave him here!"

"Relax, McKay. He's a pretty light sleeper."

"Are you kidding? He hasn't stirred this entire conversation!"

John patted his chest, his eyebrows furrowing. Then he rolled his eyes and nudged Lorne. "Evan."

Lorne stretched. "Is the movie over, baby?"

"Baby?" McKay repeated. "You will thank me forever for muting the security feed. The whole night is over. Good _morning_!"

Lorne shot up so fast that McKay jumped back. Sheppard shot McKay an accusatory look, and McKay cringed, not understanding.

"McKay. Hey," Lorne said, disoriented, but trying to sound casual. "We were just—"

"I'm very aware of what you were _just_," McKay interrupted before Lorne could lie to him. "In fact, I don't know that there's anyone alive on Atlantis that is not aware."

"What?" Lorne asked, wide eyes darting between Sheppard and McKay.

"You were right," John shrugged. _Right about what?_ McKay hated not being privy to their code-speak.

"Shit!" Lorne whispered, raking his fingers through his hair. He and Sheppard started having a rapid and intense conversation with their eyes.

"Will you two stop that! It's disturbing," McKay griped. "Come on, Lorne. Sheppard's making pancakes."

"No, I should—"

"Hide in your room until the Wraith come and we need you to play Rambo?" McKay asked tartly. "No. Give up on denial. You can't avoid it."

"McKay!" Sheppard reprimanded.

"What?" McKay snapped. "You two could have stayed in your quarters last night, but no. You chose to snuggle up in the lounge. Everybody's intrigued—they want to know how long this has been going on and how far it has progressed, and you know I only last so long under pressure. You may as well just eat breakfast, let people see you together, and if anyone asks about your sex life, for the love of God, say you're taking it slow."

"Can you make him stop talking?" Lorne asked Sheppard.

"Yes," McKay answered for him. "I will stop talking as soon as I get my pancakes."

#

It was hard not to feel all the eyes turned on them, the whispers pausing as they walked by. John wanted to show them all just how little he cared about their gossip. He wanted to clear off a table and plant a tongue-fucking kiss on Evan right there for all to see… that may have been the too-many-days-with-no-sex talking.

All the tension he'd worked so hard to massage out of Lorne's shoulders had come right back. John kept brushing the backs of his knuckles against Lorne's, hoping for some indication that it was okay to take his hand. That indication never came.

He left McKay and Lorne at a table with Ronan and Teyla, exchanging a look with Ronan. Fortunately, McKay could make small talk with himself, and make it look like he was engaging everyone at the table.

The conversation wasn't forced after the pancakes were made. To his team, the gossip wasn't news, and the pancakes were delightfully noteworthy. Evan managed a few bites, but he looked sick to his stomach and wound up just putting his head down on the table. Sheppard didn't dare rub his back or kiss him good-bye. His offer to walk Lorne back to his quarters was met with a defeated headshake, and a miserable attempt to eat more pancakes.

John looked back into the cafeteria as his team left for the mission. They hadn't even made it out the door before Lorne was swamped with curious questioners. Zelenka sat down first, then a few marines that John hadn't seen Lorne hang out with in awhile. _I didn't have any friends. I had people I sat next to more often than others._ John's protective instincts flared, but he had a job to do.

Then something strange happened. Lorne's dour expression lightened and his friendly, social smile emerged. He wasn't being hounded. He was laughing and joking with old friends who finally understood why he'd been so aloof and secretive the past few months. Maybe Lorne didn't see it that way, but John could tell the laughter was genuine. It was precious to see Lorne happy, and now he wanted to stay for a different reason. Ronan had to smack him upside the head and drag him away by the collar.

#

Lorne never would have guessed that his impromptu cuddle session with Sheppard would make him the most popular man on the base. The ones that came up to him and pressed for details were nice enough. Major Amber Trippett, who had been the closest thing he had to a best friend before Sheppard, informed him quite matter-of-factly that he and Sheppard had broken a lot of hearts today. Then she laughingly added that they'd inspired a number of steamy sex fantasies as well.

"When you said you weren't interested in me, I didn't think you were _that_ uninterested," she had joked while stealing bites of pancake off his plate. She hadn't pressed for details. If anything, she fended off the more pestering gossipers, only letting in the known acquaintances. He and Amber had come from the SGC together, and she'd introduced him to most of his friends. She was the one that made him appear social and pulled him out of his shell. When he had started dissociating with his old friends, she was the one that still came by to check in and see if he wanted to join a poker game or volleyball tournament.

It was great spending the morning with Amber. When he was with Sheppard's team, Lorne always felt like he was hiding, but with Amber, he had someone to stand next to. The world didn't revolve around her; it revolved around them. She didn't shield him from the spotlight; she showed him how to enjoy it. He'd forgotten how fun it was to be around her.

They were running laps around the city before the real talking began. He didn't give her all the details, but he mentioned his family, and why he'd gone back to Earth. She'd met his family a few years ago—he'd wanted to go to his sister's wedding, and thought it would ease tension with his family if he showed up with a date. His mother still asked about Amber on occasion. When Evan told Amber he was seeing Dr. Heightmeyer, she stopped running and stared at him. She knew how much he hated therapists, and couldn't fathom him going in voluntarily and actually _talking_. Then she gave him a hug and said she was proud of him.

"When I got word that my transfer to Atlantis had been approved, I called General O'Neill and asked him to transfer you as well," she told him as they continued their run. "I knew you'd do well here. And at the time, I was still hoping to woo you."

"So yours is one of the hearts I've broken today," Lorne laughed, bumping her shoulder as they jogged, sending her veering toward the wall. She bumped back playfully.

"Nah, I've moved on," she replied. "You know Dr. Kovarik?"

"The one who's always speaking Czech to Zelenka?" Lorne asked, nearly tripping over his feet in surprise. "For how long?"

"Almost two months now," Amber laughed. "If you hadn't been _avoiding_ me all this time, maybe I would have told you."

"Fair enough," Lorne laughed. He found that he wanted more details, but he was afraid if he pressed, she would press him too. So he dropped the topic, and she let it drop, moving on to the next thought that passed her mind. She would say just about anything out loud, and it made him laugh from the heart.

"Major Lorne to the control room," the page sounded over the station-wide speakers. He gave Amber a look and they picked up speed, running together.

#

John's team had gone missing. It was a good thing that Amber was there, because all Evan could think about was that morning—how he'd lacked the courage to kiss John good-bye with everyone watching.

"Major, do you need to sit this one out?" Amber asked when they were gearing up. She'd lost her friendly tone, and her voice had taken on the hard commander's edge that made her so damn good at her job.

"Absolutely not," Lorne answered, matching her tone, tightening his armor so that his emotions wouldn't show. He gave her a wry grin. "If I start sitting out every mission to rescue Sheppard's team, I'd lose half my hours."

"Funny. I've thought the same thing about rescuing your team," she commented, raising an eyebrow. They laughed together. No matter how careful they were, it seemed that half the time the gate was opened, they were going to rescue some team or other. It was part of the adventure of being here.

#

Sheppard winced as Lorne propped his twisted ankle on a pillow and wrapped it with an ice pack. It wasn't a terrible injury, but he was playing it up, and Evan was being insanely sweet about it.

"That settles it. We have to amputate," Evan teased, rubbing John's toes.

"It's not that bad," John protested. Evan laughed at him. "Stop laughing! This is your fault."

"How is this my fault?" Evan cried, laughing harder. He puttered around the room, tossing the dirty clothes in a hamper, and wiping down their boots. "My team came to rescue your team _again,_ and when I brought you through that gate, you were fine."

"Then you had to drop that ancient scroll, and you bent over to pick it up…" Sheppard pouted.

"And you just had to ogle my ass."

"Absolutely," John nodded, smacking Lorne's ass when he walked by. "I had no choice. I don't call you 'sweet cheeks' for nothing."

Evan laughed even harder, rubbing John's leg tenderly. "I cannot believe you fell down the stairs."

"Only one stair," John corrected defensively. "Teyla collapsed too."

"_Teyla_ was hit by a tranq dart," Evan pointed out, flicking Sheppard's arm.

"So was I!" That was John's story and he was sticking to it. Lorne gave him a look, but didn't challenge the story again. Rubbing his hand over John's stomach, he snaked his hand under John's shirt and stretched out next to him on the bed.

"No. Nuh-uh," John said, shoving Evan's head off of his shoulder. "If you cuddle up to me like that, you're just gonna fall asleep."

Evan pouted, but scooted away, pillowing his own head as he laid next to John. His hand wandered under John's shirt, tracing the outline of the muscles before sliding into John's pants. It felt so good. John gazed at Evan and Evan gazed back. Reaching out, John caressed Evan's face, his hips arching, pressing into Evan's hand. Then he closed his eyes. As much as he loved conversing without words, even he had limits to inferring love. Especially considering how they'd parted before the mission.

"I need to hear it," he choked, hoping he didn't sound too desperate.

"I love you," Evan said immediately, turning his face and kissing John's hand. Then Evan nestled to John's side, kissing his ear, keeping his hands masterfully stroking John's dick. "I love you, baby. That's all I've wanted to say since you left for this mission."

"I love you, too," John said, swallowing hard. He had this mental image of him with a wife and kids, visiting his brother, watching the cousins play in the yard. John had never really been keen on the having kids thing, but there was something in his head that told him that that was the ideal picture to strive for. He didn't see that kind of a future with Evan; it was kind of a blur past the here and now. But so long as he kept hearing those words—I love you—he could be happy for the rest of his life.

Evan's lips found his, and they kissed roughly. Then John clamped his hands on Evan's butt and gave it a squeeze. "Turn around. I didn't get to finish ogling," he growled.

Evan licked his lips and snickered hungrily, turning around and straddling John's chest. He looked over his shoulder teasingly and ground his groin against Sheppard's body, grunting like he could get off just from doing that. Even clothed, he's hotter than hell. John dipped his fingers into the waistband of Evan's pants, then slid his hands up Evan's torso, massaging the sweet spots that made Evan's eyes go dark.

Growling with playful vengeance, Lorne opened Sheppard's pants, pulling out his dick. Then he bent over and started sucking, pushing his ass back and wriggling it in John's face. John massaged him through the fabric, wanting to pull it taut, but being careful not to touch anything that might get his lover tense and forestall sex. Evan was taunting him, though, rolling his hips, pressing into John's hands. Snaking his hands around Evan's waist, John unbuttoned Evan's pants, then slowly rolled down the fabric.

"I have not kissed these dimples in far too long," John groaned, running his tongue over Lorne's cheeks, biting down as he kissed. Groaning, Evan laid his head on John's hip and pressed back toward John's lips. Evan played along, alternately flexing the muscles of each cheek. The feel, the taste, the closeness—it was intoxicating. John ran his hand up Evan's body, rubbing his hands over all the skin. Given the way Evan was straddling him, he couldn't get Evan's pants down far enough. Carefully, he wove his hand under the fabric so he could play with Evan's balls, teasing another sweet spot, getting Evan revved up enough to retaliate with a kick-ass blow job.

Biting down on Lorne's ass, Sheppard sucked, kissed, and breathed hotly over the skin. Evan was driving him wild with his tongue, licking around the head of his cock. John couldn't help thrusting into Evan's tight, wet mouth.

Then John's thumb accidentally slid into Lorne's crack. John froze, worried, and Evan paused, equally startled. There was no ripple of tension, but the blowjob hit a disappointing pause.

"You're not—are you?" Evan asked.

"I'm just going to touch you," John growled, straining his body to get his cock back in Evan's mouth. "Don't listen to Heightmeyer. You don't need to reclaim your body. You've already done it. You've already won. Just fuck me.

"I win," Evan nodded, his hand stroking John's cock far too slowly. "I trust you with this. You know that, right?"

John tensed. He did not want to go through this tonight. He just wanted sex. Evan rolled sideways, and kicked off his pants, then pushed John's pants down to his knees and got back in the sixty-nine position. John reached immediately for Evan's cock, hoping that he could just start sucking and blow over the whole topic. Then Evan cupped John's balls in his palm and slid his finger between John's ass cheeks.

"Will you do that for me?" Evan asked, bobbing his ass, pressing it closer to John's lips. John bit back an angry retort, weighing his response. Then Evan reached back with one hand, and pulled his own cheeks apart, showing off his hole. It was weird, but tantalizing at the same time, and very different from before because Evan was not tensing at all.

Tentatively, John kissed the forbidden zone just at the crest of Lorne's cheeks. No flinch. He placed a testing finger just under Lorne's hole and Lorne rubbed his hips fervently against John's finger. He'd certainly mastered not tensing.

Evan twisted around, giving John a lusty look, wetting a finger in his mouth. John's breath quickened, and his loins caught fire. He licked his lips and Evan smirked arrogantly, shoving his spit-slickened finger deep into John's ass.

"Fuck!" John cried, his head dropping to the pillow, his whole body arching as he came hard and fast. It was not fair that Evan knew how to do that. His hips bucked as he fucked himself against Evan's finger, feeling Evan's lips close around his dick, sucking him dry. With the invitation to finger, their sixty-nine suck-off challenge had moved to a new level. John wasn't brave enough to use spit as a lubricant, so he grabbed his lube from the nightstand, dabbed some on his finger, and pressed into Lorne's ass quickly, pausing once the first knuckle disappeared.

Evan gasped, froze, and tensed. John froze too, excited and terrified. The fact that he'd gotten a finger in at all was an achievement. Swallowing hard, he pet Evan's back soothingly, careful not to move his finger inside until Evan adjusted (or told him to get the hell out).

"How do I…?" Evan gasped, stroking his own finger in John's ass, moving in an out. He was asking a question, demonstrating what he wanted, but all John felt was the fiery bursts of pleasure.

"I find that swearing helps a lot," John panted, thrusting rapidly against Evan's finger.

"Fuck," Evan murmured, dropping his head. His body was flush from his ears down to his shoulders, his thighs were trembling, his breathing rapid. As soon as John felt the tension give around his finger, he started to pull his finger out, but then he felt that slight bit of suction. Evan was letting him in, chasing John's hand, until he was fully seated on John's finger, swearing all the way.

John pressed his eyes shut, feeling Evan's body squeezing and pressing around his finger, imagining how amazing that would feel on his cock. "Are you all right?"

Evan nodded slightly, pulling his fingers out of John's ass, and clawing at the bed sheets. Hell, John remembered the first time he'd felt a finger up his ass, and he could not blame Evan for needing to focus on that and nothing else. His face going white, Evan wriggled away from Sheppard's hand, abandoning the sixty-nine, and lying next to Sheppard on the bed. Then Evan tilted his hips slightly.

"You'd better not stop, Sheppard," he panted, looking desperately into John's eyes.

Smiling at the opportunity, John added a little more lube to his finger and slid into Evan's ass again, running his other hand up and down Evan's torso in soothing strokes, just like he remembered Evan doing for him in the beginning. It was easier this time, but also a very strange feeling. He'd only put his finger in his own ass a couple times; mostly, in fact exclusively the first few times, he'd let Evan do it. It was strange, knowing that Evan had coached him through this so effectively, without ever having experienced it.

Now that his finger was inside Evan's body, John wasn't quite sure what to feel for or how much he could move without breaking him. He opted to twist, and then the pad of his finger rolled over Evan's prostate. It was a subtle difference in texture, but John knew he'd hit it, because Evan cried out and swore, burying his face in the pillow and hitting it with his fist. It was so fun to hit sweet spots on Evan. John did it again and again, pumping his finger inside of Evan, until the pleasured, surprised cries turned into winces and then: "Ow, ow, ow."

John pulled his hand free, rubbing Evan's body soothingly, leaning down to kiss between his shoulder blades. When Evan rolled over, and Sheppard saw that the pain wasn't from the fingering but from his straining cock that had been smashed against the mattress. The urge to sit on Evan's rock-hard dick was overwhelming, but Evan was too close to coming. Writhing, swearing, and occasionally wincing, Evan started jacking himself hard and fast, but Sheppard pushed his hand aside.

"Let me," John whispered, cradling Lorne's cock, kissing along the side of the shaft, and circling the head with the tip of his tongue. Evan made quiet, breathy noises, rocking and straining, trying to control and delay his orgasm, which only makes his dick turn purple at the tip.

"Inside. I want to come with you—fuck, baby, fuck!" Evan gasped. John hated when Evan denied himself orgasm, because it made him hurt so bad after. Cupping Lorne's ass, John slid a finger back inside and kept sucking, hoping Evan would give up on his foolish mission. Evan's quiet sex sounds became loud, keening moans and Evan came hard, howling and quaking.

John sucked rapidly, making subtle motions of his fingers inside Evan's ass. Every time he brushed that prostate gland, he triggered Evan's hips to buck and another spurt of cum came out. He kept going until he felt Evan get flaccid in his mouth. Evan's skin had practically flushed purple, his eyes squeezed shut, his body shaking like the shocks were still hitting him. Once the swearing stop, he kept murmuring 'oh, baby' in a way that was either pained or satisfied, John wasn't sure which. John laid next to Evan, hoping only that he didn't get ousted from the bed tonight.

"Can you look at me?" John asked.

Evan's eyes shot open. His pupils were so dilated, John couldn't see any color. John caressed his face, and Evan's whole body twitched.

"I'm smoldering. Fuck," Evan rasped, his head lolling against John's arm, exhausted.

"Glad you liked it," John smiled, kissing tentatively. Evan kept shuddering, squirming, and shaking.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! I still feel it tingling," Evan grumbled, clamping his hands on John's cheeks and holding him in a kiss. "It's like you left something inside of me and it keeps… Fuck!"

Turning on his side, Evan pressed his groin to John's hips. He was already getting hard again! Overjoyed that the fingering experiment hadn't killed the evening, John reached down and massaged Evan's balls, admiring the way his cock was already hard and bouncing.

"Wow," John said. "Someone's feeling like a teenager again."

"I can't stop it," Evan panted, pressing his eyes closed again. Personally, John didn't see the point in trying to fight it. Pressing his tongue into Evan's mouth, he climbed on top of his lover and started jacking him, bringing Evan to full hardness. It did not take long at all. He smacked Lorne's ass and Lorne yelped like a sweet spot has been hit.

"Are you ready to fuck me?" John teased, coating Evan's cock with lube.

"Oh, baby, I need you—" Evan began, but the breath rushed out of him and he couldn't finish the sentence. His pupils were so dark, John wondered if he could see through the lust. Grinning hungrily, John mounted his lover, positioning Evan's tip at his entrance. Evan arched, his hips bucking, and he shoved in way too fast.

"Fuck! Slow down!" John cried, his body bowing as the pain shot from his ass all the way up his spine. It had been too long since they'd done this, and Evan was out of control. Planting his hips firmly on Evan's, John pinned him to the bed, trying to hold still long enough for all the black spots to clear from his vision.

"Kiss me," he ordered, holding down Evan's shoulders, pretending they were wrestling. With his gimped ankle, it was difficult to keep Evan's legs pinned, and Evan was still bucking erratically. Using the kiss, John massaged Evan's tongue in a steady, hypnotic pace, rolling his hips in time until Evan matched his rhythm. Although he calmed some, John could tell his skin was hypersensitive from the first orgasm, because he was shaking.

Reluctantly, John lifted himself off of Evan and laid beside him, keeping him in a kiss, trying to reclaim intimacy. Evan moaned miserably, reaching down and jacking himself desperately. His dick and balls were dark red.

"I'm gonna throw cold water on you if you don't look at me," John warned.

"I'm sorry," Evan gasped, his face crinkling in humiliation. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. "Why'd you stop? Did I hurt you?"

"I'm more worried about hurting you," John said.

"Then don't stop," Evan begged, pulling Sheppard's leg over his hips, thrusting their cocks together. John found the desperation in Evan's voice disturbing.

John kissed him again, trying to slow him down. "Are you having fun?"

"My belly's still tingling," Evan said, looking happy and guilty by the confession. "How long is that supposed to last?"

"It's like a free orgasm, isn't it?" John smiled, understanding. His first prostate orgasm had had quite an afterglow as well. "Just enjoy it. If it starts to hurt, let me know."

Panting into another kiss, Evan snaked his arm around John's waist and pulled him off the side of the bed. He snapped their hips together, then pushed John's face toward the mattress, half manhandling, half wrestling. Hopping on one foot, John hooked his injured leg around Evan's knees, more for balance than to fight. Then Evan shoved a finger in John's ass, hooking his fingertips just enough so that John wouldn't pull free. Not that he wanted to. Evan's fingers were insanely talented at finding all of John's favorite inside spots. He was an experienced top, and knew exactly how rough he could be without making it hurt.

Arching back, John hooked his arms under Evan's shoulders, then hoisted his body up Evan's so that he could use his good leg to kick off the bed. Laughing gruffly, Evan clamped both hands over John's thighs, keeping them balanced until they hit the wall. Then he lifted John up and seated him on his cock. Generally, John wasn't a fan of being lifted off the ground, but tonight it felt erotic. It was a feat of balance and strength, and it took all of John's concentration to keep himself balanced in Evan's arms without tensing his ass. The physical exertion seemed to steady Evan's rhythm, and he pounded in hard, fast, even strokes, grunting in Sheppard's ear the whole while.

John could feel himself getting harder, and he tried to twist his hips to get Evan's dick to hit him just right, but their balance was precarious, and the sweat between their heated bodies was already making it difficult. They got into a bouncing rhythm, and John screamed as he finally felt the jolts of pleasure penetrating his body as his rock hard dick wagged in the air. John cried out airily when he felt Evan coming inside him. Evan dropped one of John's legs, and John nearly fell sideways trying to get his toe on the floor fast enough to balance. Then he felt Lorne's warm, thick hand close over his cock, jacking him. John leaned back, his head falling on Evan's shoulder, murmuring curses in Evan's ear until he came, shooting cum all the way across the room, hitting the edge of the bed. Only then did he feel Evan pull out of him.

They staggered to the bed, Lorne practically carrying him. John felt like his bones had turned to jelly. They collapsed on the mattress, lying side-by-side, face down. John felt Evan's fingers lace with his, and he brought their joint hands to his lips, kissing Evan's fingertips. When John's body had cooled off enough, he nestled closer to Evan, and they wove their bodies together, Evan resting his head over John's heart.

"You don't mind if I sleep now, do you baby?" Evan murmured, his eyelids already drooping.

"You earned it, sweet cheeks," John said, kissing the top of Evan's head. "You won and I'm proud of you."

#


End file.
